


Both Sides of the Law

by JoeyLee



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 91,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeyLee/pseuds/JoeyLee
Summary: A law school AU.  What happens when two wildly different, yet also weirdly similar, insanely competitive people are forced to sit next to each other every day in law school?  It's going to be a long three years.
Relationships: Beth Boland & Annie Marks, Beth Boland & Ruby Hill, Beth Boland/Dean Boland, Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 416
Kudos: 710





	1. Prologue - The Party

There weren’t many things that Beth found more satisfying or reassuring than a clipboard. 

A clipboard gave her something to do with her hands. A clipboard could be tilted up to shield her chest when someone’s eyes wandered a little too much. Best of all, a clipboard told anyone watching that she was a person with a purpose, that she was the person in charge.

The one she was holding she had brought from home. It was made of solid wood and she had painstakingly appliqued the back with colorful flowers cut out from her glossy gardening magazines. It had a big shiny metal clip that closed with a satisfying _clap_. She loved it. 

She knew she didn’t actually _need_ it, of course. At least not for her current situation. All she really was supposed to be doing was standing at the loading dock doors behind the law school to direct the set-up/clean-up crews and catering staff to either the Atrium (where the party was) or the cafeteria (where the food was), respectively. 

It was not a task that screamed out the need for one of her clipboards. 

Nor was it a task that needed _her_ specifically. The party was to welcome the incoming first year law student class, of which she was a part. She was supposed to be attending the party, not volunteering at it.

But when she had received the invitation ( _Detroit College School of Law Welcomes the Incoming Class of 2006!_ ) the month before, the first thing she had done was reach out and offer to volunteer. Of course, Dean had tried to discourage her from doing it, told her that she was just going to come off as a goody two-shoes to her new classmates. Even Ruby had encouraged her to just go and try to relax and meet people and not worry about pitching in. 

But Beth knew the best way to get involved - to become part of something - was to volunteer. It was a trick she had used her whole life. And she wanted to be involved. She really wanted this whole thing to work. She really needed this whole thing to work. 

So she had searched the student directory the school had sent until she found the president of the Student Bar Association’s email and reached out to offer her help with the party, whatever they needed.

The president, a rising third year student named Gretchen, had emailed back almost immediately to tell her the SBA didn’t need any help, and Beth should just plan to enjoy the party as a guest. The tone of the email had been polite, albeit somewhat baffled. Beth had guessed that she was the only new student that had reached out to volunteer. 

But it wasn’t the first time that Beth had been told no, and she had expected it anyway, the same way she expected her mother-in-law to decline help with the dishes after every Sunday dinner. So Beth did the same thing she did every Sunday. She asked again, then again, and then she got her way (the same way she usually did). Gretchen had finally emailed back to say if she really insisted on helping out ( _Beth did_ ), she could be stationed at the loading dock to direct the staff hired to work the party to their positions. 

Beth had accepted graciously, pleased. She had been sure that getting involved from day one would be the first step in fitting in to what would be her new world for the next three years.

Now, though, standing at the loading dock in the dim, deserted alley behind the law school, surrounded by the fragrant aroma of several dumpsters, she wasn’t quite as sure. She wasn’t even sure this job required a warm body, either with a clipboard (which, again, she had _brought_ from _home_ ) or without. It probably could have been accomplished just as well with a sign taped to the door. 

Still, it was the job she had been given so she intended to do it right, even if it was pointless busy work. Besides, seeing how the party was organized was giving her a bunch of ideas of how she could make it run more smoothly next year.

_____

It was near the time for the party to start. The last staff person she had checked off had been over fifteen minutes ago. She was debating heading inside when a black Mustang screeched to a stop at the end of the alley. 

She eyed the car with professional interest. It was the classic American muscle car that lived up to its reputation, but not one she saw often at the dealership her husband’s family owned. Too flashy and too powerful for their mostly suburban clientele. 

Still, it was eye-catching all the same. And ear-splitting too, the sounds of the bass thumping from the sound system through the open windows. 

The driver climbed out and started to head towards her, leaving the car running behind him. His passenger got out too and jogged quickly around the car. She caught a glimpse of tattoos and a bald head before he jumped behind the wheel. He yelled something in Spanish out the window after the driver, and she heard laughter and hollering from the people in the backseat.

“Fuck off,” the driver threw back over his shoulder, but he was laughing too. Then the car was roaring off again. 

She watched it go, then turned her attention to the man approaching her. It was dusk and getting harder to see by the minute in the alley. He was just a tall, dark silhouette. But when he reached the stairs and started to jog up them, the flood lights behind her hit him in full, and…well. 

She clutched her clipboard a little tighter.

He was really… _good-looking._ He had dark hair and dark eyes, with sharp cheekbones and bright white teeth in a tanned brown face. 

He smiled when he got close enough to see her staring, his face full of easy charm. His eyes dropped down to her clipboard, then back up to her face. 

“Welcoming committee?” he asked. His voice was very deep. 

She wondered if this was a dig against her clipboard. She cleared her throat and attempted to take charge of the situation.

“Name?” 

“Rio. What’s yours?” 

She frowned slightly. Her name wasn’t relevant. What was relevant was getting all the staff logged in carefully by name and arrival time under the two columns she had made, one for _Set-up/Clean-Up_ and one for _Catering_. (Technically, all Gretchen had said she needed to do was give directions to anyone coming in the back door, but Beth had figured it was much more efficient to create a log of who had arrived and when, thus, the necessity and genius of her clipboard). 

She looked him up and down. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, an oversized hoodie, and white sneakers. He wasn’t wearing a uniform or carrying one, like the rest of the catering staff she had seen so far. Which meant that he must be part of the crew moving tables and chairs and hauling supplies instead. Which meant he was late. The party would start soon and the last person she had checked in from the set-up crew had been at least thirty minutes ago. 

“You’re late,” she told him, a little frosty so maybe he would think to reconsider his work ethic. She bent her head over her clipboard and carefully wrote the time and “Rio” under the _Set-up/Clean-Up_ column. 

“Last name?” 

He didn’t answer so she glanced back up. He was tilting his head, trying to read her writing upside down. He looked confused.

“Thought this thing started at 7?”

“It does, but obviously if you were going to help set-up, you needed to be here earlier, to, you know, _set up_.” 

She wondered if maybe she was laying it on a little thick considering that technically she wasn’t actually this guy’s boss or really in any position of power whatsoever over him. But then again, she’d learned pretty quickly dealing with the high school boys that her little sister constantly brought home that showing any weakness equaled death. Not that he was in high school, but he was at least several years younger than she was, probably only a couple years older than Annie and her friends. Better to take the bossy high road to make her authority clear.

He didn’t seem intimidated or put-off by her tone though. He just stood there cocking his head, regarding her curiously.

“Why would I be helpin’ set up?” 

Oh. Then he wasn’t part of the set-up crew. She probably shouldn’t have assumed that based on what he was wearing. Maybe one of the other cater waiters had brought his uniform with him. Flustered, she scratched through the note she had made under _Set-Up/Clean-Up_ and made a new note under _Catering_. 

She thought she could feel him watching her do it. It flustered her more.

“The catering staff are meeting in the cafeteria. Through the main doors, take the stairs down a level, then follow the signs down the hall.” 

He didn’t follow her directions though. Infuriatingly, he just kept standing there. And now he seemed amused somehow. 

“Nah, darlin’, I ain’t here to serve food.” 

_Darling._ Dean called her that sometimes, usually in front of other people. It didn’t sound the same when Dean said it. This man made the intimate word sound so warm and easy. She hated that she let it throw her, even a little bit. 

Uncertain, she looked down at her clipboard again for answers. Not set-up, not catering. Gretchen hadn’t mentioned any other staff.

Beth felt him move a step closer and looked up again to find his head close to hers as he craned his neck to look down at her clipboard. His eyelashes were so long that they brushed his cheeks. 

She scowled and tilted the clipboard away from him. 

He straightened back up and they stared at each other for a moment, silent, waiting each other out.

He broke first.

“Here for the drinks,” he supplied helpfully. 

Of course. One of the bartenders, she thought, relieved. She carefully made a new column on her clipboard. This time she knew he was watching her do it. 

She squared her shoulders and pointed to the double doors behind her.

“Head straight down the hallway until you reach the Atrium. The bars are already set up at either end.” 

He was nodding slowly at her. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, like he was trying not to smile. 

“Cool. See you in there, yeah?” 

She nodded back, but briskly, so he’d get the hint that she was working here and maybe he should finally start thinking about doing the same.

His grin broke out at her dismissal, but only for a second. Then he was wiping the smile off and arranging his face in a picture of exaggerated seriousness, giving her the same brisk nod back.

He ambled through the double doors and disappeared down the hall towards the party. 

_____

Twenty minutes later, it was crystal clear that anyone who was going to be working the party had already arrived. Beth knew it was time to stop stalling and get to mingling rather than standing alone in the dark. She stashed her clipboard in her shoulder bag and made her way inside towards the sounds of the party. 

She paused though when she got to the entranceway of the Atrium, fighting the tiny urge to try to find another job to do, something, anything. This moment felt bigger than just the normal awkwardness of heading into a party where she knew practically no-one. 

It felt like a moment of truth. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t realized before now that she was a “non-traditional” student, as the Dean of Admissions had delicately termed it. She had known that meant she’d be older than most of her classmates, almost 28 when the average age was 23. (She suspected it also meant that she would be one of the few married students, when most of these kids were probably still thinking about the best bar to find someone to hook up with on a Saturday night.) 

But she had also learned that “non-traditional” meant a more _eclectic_ academic background (another gentle euphemism from the Dean to blur over the fact that she had taken several years longer than the traditional four years to get her undergraduate degree, and that her path had included community college). She suspected that most of her new classmates would have had a hard time even naming a community college in the area, must less attending night classes at one for a couple years to get enough credits to transfer. 

She summoned up Ruby’s voice in her head. So what if she had taken a different ( _longer_ ) path to get here. She had all As, even if some of those As _were_ transfer credits. She had taken the same admissions test all the rest of them had, and done very well, thank you very much. She had work experience so she knew how the real world worked, unlike these kids. She belonged here. 

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders and put on her best smile. Time to meet the people she was going to be spending the next three years with. 

She saw the check-in table in the corner and made her way over. There were two nametags left on the table, sitting side-by-side. One was _Elizabeth Boland_ , and, next to it, _Christopher Bonilla_. 

She frowned a little at hers. As always, her preference of “Beth” had been ignored in favor of her legal name. 

Luckily, she still had her Sharpie. She pulled it out and leaned over the table to fix the nametag, neatly crossing out “Elizabeth,” then printing “BETH” in careful block letters.

“Elizabeth, huh?” 

A large hand came down to rest next to hers on the table, and she heard the same gravelly voice from outside behind her. He was leaning around her to peer down at what she was doing. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne.

“Beth, actually,” she corrected. Which, honestly, it should have been obvious that was her preference. Did he not see what she was doing? Did he think that she just marked up nametags with Sharpies for fun? Not that it should matter anyway what her name was, given that he was supposed to be _working._

He made a little _hmmph_ sound from the back of his throat, which she thought was meant to show what he thought of her nickname. 

She rolled her eyes at him to show how little she cared what he thought. 

She finished fixing the nametag and turned around pointedly so he’d have to step back. 

He did, but moved like water, shifting back easily, but still standing close. 

He had gotten rid of his hoodie somewhere. Underneath he was wearing a crisp light grey button up that contrasted sharply with his dark jeans and skin tone. It looked tailored and it stretched perfectly across his chest.

She blinked. Was his shirt…Hugo Boss? The buttons reminded her of one she had considered buying for Dean before deciding a cheaper brand probably made more sense given how often Dean came home covered in coffee stains. 

She realized that she was staring. With difficulty, she pulled her eyes away from his chest and back to her own, concentrating on pinning her nametag just so to her lapel. She hoped he would take the hint and go away.

He didn’t.

“Can I borrow that Sharpie?” he asked instead. He was still standing too close. 

Beth sighed. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the bar?” She really needed to let Gretchen know some of the staff had a distinct professionalism problem. If, or _when_ , she was in charge of throwing the party next year, she’d have to make sure they did a better job of recruiting the help. 

“Was just there, actually.” He wiggled his hand to show her the beer bottle he was holding. “But Gretch got on me ‘bout not having my nametag.” 

She was confused and a little scandalized. Was he really _drinking_ on the job? And…”Gretch”? He had to mean Gretchen? Granted, Beth barely knew her, but Gretchen hadn’t seemed like someone who would be on a first name basis with the staff. And why would he have a nametag? Nametags were for the students, and he was just a bartender… 

Oh.

Oh _no._

Everything seemed suddenly to be moving very slowly and she seemed to be watching it all unfold from outside her own body. 

She watched him lean closer again to reach behind her and pick up the last nametag from the table. 

She watched him pluck the Sharpie from her hand and use it to cross out “Christopher” then write “Rio” in big block letters that still managed to look messy.

Then she watched as he made a production of pinning the nametag _just so_ to his lapel, mirroring her, exact and mocking, grinning down at her all the while. 

_Oh no._

_____

Two hours into the party, she felt like her cheeks were still on fire. It didn’t help that wherever she seemed to be standing, he was somehow standing in her line of sight, talking, laughing, drinking easily with Gretchen and others. And usually looking right back at her, dark eyes dancing, seemingly just _delighted_ at her embarrassment.

And she was embarrassed. Acutely so. And uncomfortable. Because, while this was Detroit, the crowd was very white. (She had known it would be, of course. She had done her research, reviewed the demographics for past graduating classes, as well as her incoming class. She knew the statistics for students of color, just like she had known the average age, the percentage of women, the average salary after graduation.)

And given that he wasn’t white, he must have thought she had looked him up and down and assumed he was working the party, not attending it, based on his race. She cringed internally at the thought. 

It had been a natural mistake, an _honest_ mistake, she told herself. She went over it again in her mind, as she had been doing for the past two hours, looking for any scrap of justification she could find. 

If anything, she had judged him on his age, not his race. 

And he had shown up in a muscle car! ( _Law students couldn’t get dropped off in muscle cars?_ ). He had been dropped off at the _loading dock_! ( _Law students couldn’t use the back door?_ ).

Oh, and the casual way he was dressed – what else was she supposed to have thought? Although…that was another thing. Somehow he was actually dressed more appropriately than she was. 

She had _agonized_ for weeks over what to wear. She wanted to appear professional since many of the professors would be there, but still not too formal in a full suit on a Saturday night. With men outnumbering women two to one in the incoming class, she hadn’t wanted to wear anything too pink, too floral, too feminine. She had thought the black pencil skirt, white blouse, and dark green blazer she had finally decided on were perfect. 

But looking around the party, she had quickly noticed most of the students were dressed more casually, more like… _him_. While she was dressed more like the faculty. It made her feel itchy to stand out. It made her feel old. 

But he had _said_ he was _there_ for the _drinks_! What else was she supposed to have thought? She didn’t just go around automatically assuming people were staff based on their race! 

Oh God. 

Everything she could think of in her head to justify that she hadn’t actually been racist sounded like something a racist trying to deny being racist would say. 

_I’m not racist, my best friend is black!_ She defended herself hotly to herself. 

Oh God, that was worse. 

She cringed again, outwardly this time before she could help it, and closed her eyes briefly.

The worst moment came when they ended up in line together for a drink. She saw him notice her in line and head towards her, falling in place behind her. She resolutely stayed facing forward. But she could feel him at her back, no doubt laughing at her. 

When it was her turn, she stepped up to the bar. And then the bartender turned towards her and her heart sank when she saw his face. 

The bartender didn’t really look anything like the man behind her, other than the fact that they were both tall, with dark hair. 

Oh, and the fact that they both appeared to be Latino. 

She wondered if _he_ would notice, wondered if he would do something to call it out. 

He did. And he did.

First he squeezed past her from behind to move up and stand next to her at the bar. She felt his hand brush lightly on her back as he did, innocently, as though there weren’t enough room to get by and he was trying to be respectful of her personal space. She was pretty sure that wasn’t why he did it. 

He leaned against the bar on one elbow, then propped his chin up on his hand and swiveled his whole body to face her, posture loose and easy. 

He looked slowly from her to the bartender and back again. 

She took a deep breath, ignored him, and smiled her politest smile at the bartender. 

“May I have a Coke, please?” she asked, as respectful as anyone ordering a drink had ever been. She desperately wanted another glass of wine to take the edge off but had read you should never have more than two alcoholic drinks at these types of events. 

She looked at Rio ( _Christopher?_ ) out of the corner of her eye. He was still looking at her. She wondered if he had read the same article. 

The bartender turned expectantly to him too, obviously assuming they were together.

She watched him with a morbid fascination, waited to see what he would do.

Rio held her gaze for a second, milking the moment for all it was worth. Then he lolled his head lazily towards the bartender.

“Dos, por favor,” he said, slow and loud, rolling the words, making his accent thick. 

He turned back to her, solemn-faced, but his lips were twitching again. 

“See, that means ‘Two, please’ in Spanish.” 

Beth knew her face must be bright red, probably her neck and chest too. She wished desperately that she could speak enough Spanish to say something cutting and clever and put him in his place. But she couldn't. She had taken French in high school and barely knew ten words of Spanish more than the three he’d just said. 

And more importantly, she reminded herself, this _wasn’t_ actually high school and she wasn’t a child like he was, making a big deal of an honest mistake and trying to make her uncomfortable to get a reaction. She didn’t have time to play little games with him. She had better things to do, like meet her professors and make a good first impression. 

So she didn’t dignify any of it with a reaction, not Rio with his smirks or the bartender with his confusion. She just took the Coke placed in front of her, turned her back, and marched back into the crowd. 

She made sure not to make eye contact with him again for the rest of the night. 

_____

When the party was almost over, she went outside to sit on the front steps of the building to wait for Dean to pick her up. She sent Ruby a quick text to let her know it went okay ( _mostly okay_ ). They had already planned to meet for breakfast the next day for a full debrief.

She felt faint relief. Maybe it would all actually be okay. Aside from the _obvious_ , the night had gone kind of well. She had made she sure she met all of her professors. She had shown Gretchen and the rest of the SBA that she was a team player. She had even talked to several students who seemed kind of friendly. 

So what if she was a little older, there were other people her age, a few even older. And she didn’t think anyone took one look at her and automatically pegged her as going to community college for an associate’s degree before getting her bachelor’s. 

It would be okay. 

Behind her, Beth heard the main doors open and a group spill out, laughing. Several voices were talking over each other about which bar to head to for an afterparty. 

She kept her head down and her attention on her phone so she wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. So that it wouldn’t be awkward. She’d overheard a few people inside talking about the afterparty too. No-one had invited her to come, but then, she didn’t really expect anyone to. They were all younger, cooler, single. 

Besides, she was waiting for Dean. And she had a hundred things to do when she got home. So she couldn’t have gone even if someone had asked her.

“Hey.”

She looked up from her phone. Rio was standing in front of her, but several steps down so their heads were on the same level. 

“Hello” she said, wary. What did he want?

“You comin’ out for another drink?” 

She blinked. Why would he ask her to come along? He must be making fun of her again. 

She should scoff, ignore him, look back down at her phone. 

But he seemed to be waiting for an actual answer.

She cleared her throat. “I’m waiting for my ride.” 

“So tell ‘em to pick you from the bar.” He nodded down at the phone in her hand.

Standing there in front of her, back in his hoodie, with his hands balled up in the pockets and obviously a few drinks in, he seemed open somehow, boyish. He seemed almost genuine.

But even if there were some small chance he wasn’t making fun of her, at home she still had a mountain of laundry waiting for her, a cake to bake for Dean’s mother’s birthday party the next day, and Annie to wait up for. 

“I need to get home.” It came out more abrupt than she intended. 

He looked away, over to the corner where the rest of the group was waiting for him. When he looked back, he didn’t look boyish anymore.

“Past your bedtime?”

Yeah. She had been right. He was making fun of her. 

She didn’t answer, bent her head back down to her phone. 

“’Kay, see you Monday in class then.”

That made her look up again. She’d read that the first year class was big enough to have been split into three sections. Each section would have classes at different times, on different days. Chances were that they wouldn’t even be in the same section. 

She hoped they wouldn’t be in the same section. 

He seemed to read her mind. 

“Gretch says they split us up based on last name, yeah?” 

When she didn’t respond, he pointed to his own nametag still on his lapel poking out from under his hoodie. Pointed to _Bonilla_. Then he took two steps up until he was standing right in front of her. He reached down slowly towards her nametag, gave her time to pull away. When she didn’t, he dragged his finger carefully under the letters in _Boland_. 

For a second, she thought she could feel how warm his hand was as it hovered over her heart.

The sound of a car horn made her jump. She heard Dean calling her name, well, yelling out _Bethie_. He was double-parked in traffic, gesturing at her through the window to hurry up. 

She stood quickly and grabbed her bag, maneuvered around him to hurry down the stairs.

“Bye Bethie,” he called after her, sing song. She didn’t turn around.

When she was settled in the front seat, she tilted her head towards Dean so he could kiss her on the cheek. He pulled out into traffic and launched into a story about his day. She half-listened as she made lists in her head. Monday was going to come fast, and she still had so much to do. 

Through the window, she watched Rio’s back as he walked down the street, surrounded by the rest of his group. His head was tipped back and he seemed to be laughing, comfortable and easy and already fitting in. 

She had a feeling it was going to be a long year. 


	2. 1L - Fall Semester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two brand spanking new first-years (1Ls) adjust to the fall semester of law school and each other (poorly).

He hadn’t expected that law school was gonna be hard and so far it wasn’t. It basically just came down to reading and arguing, and he’d never had a problem with either. It helped to also have a good memory and no fear of speaking his mind, in public or otherwise. And he had notes and papers and shit from Gretchen, who’d had all the same classes two years before. So yeah, the school part of law school wasn’t hard. 

There were only two hard things about the whole thing. And they didn’t have nothing to do with studying. 

The first was constantly having to bite down his natural impulses. Towards action, towards getting shit done, towards plain talk without a bunch of bullshit. Law school was turning out to be his college experience on steroids, heavy on the sitting around endlessly talking about shit that had happened a hundred years ago, light on any practical or useful information that he could actually use out in the real world. 

He hadn’t had plans for more school after college. Had only agreed to college itself to make his mother happy. And after four years, he’d been itching to be out for good, making more money, expanding business, doing shit instead of talking about it.

But then, last year, early in his senior year, his uncle Victor had called him outside after Sunday dinner. 

_Christopher_ , he had said, _let’s talk_. That’s when Rio knew it wasn’t some routine chat about drops or schedules. He was only _Christopher_ to his uncle when shit was serious.

They’d gone outside and sat on the little chairs his mother had set out in what she called her “garden.” He could see her and his aunts through the kitchen window, laughing as they cleaned up after dinner. 

His uncle had passed him a cigar, then started talking. 

Rio had listened, like he always did. His uncle wasn’t just the boss business-wise, he had been a father to him his whole life.

But this idea to apply to law school? That was out of left field. It meant three more years of school. Three more years sitting inside at a desk instead of out actually earning them money. (More money than he already earned them, that was.)

His uncle had read his hesitation.

“It’s time to think long-term.” Victor had said, taking another deep puff from the cigar. “Past just the street level to where you can help us best in the future.” 

“Yeah, but didn’t think we needed help in that area.” Xavier Zorada had represented his uncle and anyone in their organization who got in trouble for over twenty years. He was the best criminal defense attorney in Detroit, and a cousin as well. And his daughter was already halfway through law school, planned to follow in his footsteps. 

“Xavier takes good care of us, sure,” his uncle had agreed easily. “But I’m not just talkin’ about gettin’ out of trouble. I’m talkin’ about what we need if we want to build. Take the bar down on St. Antoine for example.” 

“What about it?” The bar was a recent purchase. His uncle had wanted a neighborhood place to serve as a home base that could still bring in legit money up front. 

“What’d we have to do to get it?” His uncle had paused, looked him in the eye, made sure he was listening. “What do we got to do to keep it?”

Rio had had no idea. That wasn’t really his department. 

“We had to get a lawyer to write up the contract to buy it, to set up our company that’s gonna own it. Hire another one to work with the city for permits. Now the first lawyer is tellin’ me we need another one for all the tax shit we’re gonna have to file.” Victor had laughed. “It’s a fuckin’ racket with those guys, never ends. How many lawyers we gonna need when we own two bars, five bars? When we sell ‘em and branch out to somethin’ bigger?” 

Rio had smoked his cigar in silence. Enjoying the heavy feel of the smoke in his lungs and just listening to his uncle lay it all out. He had got what Victor was saying. Lawyers wrote the rules. You wanted to win the game, you had to know the rules. When to follow them, but also when you could break them and get away with it. 

Some part of the whole idea was darkly appealing. He could learn how it all worked from the other side. Then use it to protect their money. Use it to make more. 

Still, he had hesitated. He’d miss the nights with his boys, miss the side lines of business he’d developed on his own once he had been grown enough for Victor to start giving him more control. 

“Keep your crew for now.” Once again, his uncle had read his mind. “But pull back some from the day-to-day. Let’s keep that record clean, yeah?” 

Rio had recognized the warning, clear as a bell. No trouble, no arrests, nothing that’d need Xavier’s help to get out of. 

And he’d recognized the order too, even if his uncle had presented it just as a “good idea.” Apply to law school. For the future of their business. For their family. 

He had signed up to take the admissions test the next day. 

\-----

Getting accepted turned out not to have been all that hard either. 

He had always kept his college grades respectable enough to keep his mother and uncle off his back. His grades alone weren’t what got him in though. Turned out the admissions test was basically three hours of logic problems and trying to figure shit out. It had actually been fun. 

One 95th percentile score later and a letter of recommendation from a big-shot alum like Zorada both in his pocket and Detroit College School of Law was “proudly welcoming” him to its incoming first-year class. 

Which brought him to the second thing that was hard about law school. The fucking people. Professors and students both, holy shit. 

His motto had always been different faces for different places. And he had a bunch of faces. Some of them were easy to wear, like the respectful one he showed to his mother and uncle or the boss one he showed to his crew. But some of the faces were harder, like the careful overcorrect one he had to wear around professors, usually old, usually white, who were more offended by the word _ain’t_ than the word _fuck_. 

But just ‘cause it was hard didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He’d done it all through four years of college. He knew when to lay off the casual speech and make his language and grammar proper. When to keep his smile open and pleasant so nobody would go ‘bout feeling _threatened_. And when to bite his tongue and look past shit that would have got someone put in the hospital if it happened anyplace other than the classroom. 

Yeah, he knew how to handle the professors. 

But the students? Man, that was a fucking adjustment. Never in his life had he seen a bigger bunch of uptight white people. Most of them crazy competitive, endlessly speculating about class ranks and GPAs from the very first day, when the first grades they’d be seeing were still months away. Half of them went around 24-7 acting more stressed and strung out than any junkie he had ever met. 

But the worst were the ones who combined the competitiveness and overstress and wrapped it all up in a better-than-you package. Who acted like all this artificial bullshit that made up law school was the most important life-or-death fucking shit in the world and anyone who wasn’t doing it their way was doing it wrong.

Exhibit A: Elizabeth Boland.

\-----

It started the first day of classes. Well, actually, no, it had started at the welcome party before classes even started. But it really kicked into gear the first day of classes. 

He rolled up five minutes before the start of Property, his Section’s first class of the day. The first-year class had almost 250 students, large enough to be divided into three Sections. Each Section took the same required core classes together – Property, Torts, Contracts, and Legal Writing. 

There was a seating chart taped to the classroom door that showed assigned seating by last name. He found his name and made his way to his seat. 

And there she was. 

He’d been low key looking forward to seeing her again all weekend. He had expected to be bored out his skull at the party, had only showed ‘cause Gretchen had non-stop nagged him about it for weeks. Elizabeth had been the most interesting person he had met, mostly ‘cause it seemed like she was just made up of contradictions. 

The most obvious was that angel face paired with the porn star body, but it was more than that. 

When he had first seen her, standing alone on the loading dock with the light from behind her framing her hair like a halo, he had immediately slapped on his most non-threatening smile. She was a white woman looking like that standing in a dark Detroit alley who was ‘bout to come face-to-face with a guy like him. He had expected her to be cowering behind that little flowered clipboard for protection and bolting to an exit at the first sign of any sudden movement from him. 

But that was wrong. There hadn’t been a bit of fear in her, not even some healthy self-preservation ‘bout standing alone in the dark with someone she didn’t know. Instead, she had just started right in, peppering him with questions, telling him what to do. And even when he had moved closer, got into her space, she still hadn’t tensed. She had just seemed outraged that he was trying to look at her little papers. 

None of it was what he’d expected from someone who looked like her.

Then, once they were both inside, and she had finally realized her mistake ( _and oh man, the look on her face when she had, he had replayed it several times since and laughed every time_ ), he had expected her to trip all over herself and apologize, all white lady guilty and embarrassed as hell. Couldn’t wait for the apology actually and kept running into her so she could give it. Not ‘cause he gave a shit that she thought he was a bartender ( _and for real, how many bartenders had she ever met who were wearing $300 sneakers?_ ), but so he could watch her stumble through it and then dismiss her to her face. 

But then she hadn’t apologized, hadn’t tried to explain or justify, hadn’t jumped on his invitation to the bar to overcorrect and try and show things were all good between them. Instead, she had just kept looking coolly back at him at every turn, seeming all quiet and serene and above it all, acting like he was some immature little kid playing around and she was twenty years older than him instead of just a couple. For a second, _he_ had almost felt guilty instead. 

So yeah, she hadn’t been what he had expected in a sea of cookie cutter people who had been just exactly what he had pictured.

And now here she was again, looking like she had been there for hours and planned to stay for the rest of her life. She had a notebook open in front of her, as well as their textbook and what he recognized as a pocket legal dictionary. There was a glossy hardcover book with the title _Principles of Property Law_ on one corner of the desk. On the other corner was an actual pencil case, something he last remembered seeing in middle school. She had a bunch of highlighters laid out in a neat little row. A pink one, a green one, a yellow one, a blue one, and an orange one. At her feet was a sturdy wheeled bag that could have doubled as a suitcase for a two-week vacation. It was open and filled to the top with more notebooks and shit.

Jesus. He had his laptop and the textbook, like a normal person. 

He dropped down loudly into the seat next to her, pulled her attention to him.

She looked as good as she had at the party, all big blue eyes and red-blonde hair curling around her shoulders. 

“Told you we’d be together,” he grinned at her when she didn’t give him nothing but a small nod.

She looked away at the mention of their conversation on the stairs. So it was gonna be like that.

He plugged in his laptop and fired it up. It didn’t look like she had one, which made her one of the only ones in the class who didn’t as far as he could tell. 

“Don’t trust computers?” he asked her profile. He was half-teasing, half-curious, but her face tightened up as if he had insulted her. 

“You retain more if you write by hand,” she said, still not looking directly at him, but staring instead at his laptop, looking faintly disapproving. 

“You gonna get carpal tunnel if you write by hand.” 

That got her to look at him, even if it was just to roll her eyes. She turned back to her desk immediately though and he watched her busy herself with straightening her already straight little row of highlighters. Why did she have so many? It was so weird.

“They’re so I can organize my notes with different colors. I have a system.” She explained when she saw him staring. 

“What happens when you studying for the final and need to look up a case?” The textbook covered dozens of cases over hundreds of years. How was she planning to find anything?

Once again, she looked like he had insulted her, even though he was genuinely fucking curious how she was gonna do it. 

“I’ll use the colors and the index I’m going to create.” Said like that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“If you had a computer, you could just search by the name,” he argued. She knew most of the class had laptops for a reason, right?

“It’s better this way.” She looked like she was grinding her teeth. 

“Better than pressin’ Command + F?”

“ _Yes._ ” She almost hissed it.

What? That was just straight up wrong. In what world was it better to search through a paper notebook page-by-page looking for a particular color when he could push two buttons on his iBook and find something instantly? It was amazing how wrong she was and more amazing how sure of herself she sounded while being so wrong. 

That was only the beginning.

\-----

Every seating chart for every one of their classes had them sitting next to each other and with their last names, they were in the front row in every damn class. The front row was _not_ the place he would have chosen for himself, although Elizabeth seemed to fucking love it and probably would have fought someone for the spot.

Every class that first week went the same. She got there before him, and probably _way_ before him just judging on how set up she was. By the time he showed up, she would have all her shit laid out. Then, class would start and she’d take notes like her life depended on it. She only stopped to ask questions or to answer them. When class was over, she’d pack everything up and move her little camp to the next class and start the whole thing over again. 

People in their Section were starting to buddy up and get friendly, what with being together all the time in class, studying together in the library. But no chance of that happening with Elizabeth. She always looked like she didn’t know what to do with him. Like she couldn’t understand why he didn’t come insanely fucking early to every class. Why he wasn’t taking notes franticly like he was being forced to at gunpoint. Why he wasn’t shooting his hand in the air every five minutes to kiss ass with the professors. 

On his part it drove him crazy how fucking particular she was. All the little notebooks and colors. The constant questions to clarify this little point or that one, about long dead issues from hundreds of years ago involving slavery or railroads that had no bearing in the real world today. He didn’t like when she’d raise her hand to contribute some little fact to “help” him like he actually needed that, didn’t like how she corrected him like he wasn’t paying attention.

They were turning out to be oil and water. 

\-----

Three weeks in, and it was clear their Torts professor fucking loved Elizabeth. It probably had something to do with the fact that calling on her gave Professor Kelly an excuse to come stand right in front of her and get an up close view of her chest. 

“Who wants to recite the facts in _Palsgraf versus Long Island Railroad Company_?”

Rio already knew without looking to his right that Elizabeth had her hand up.

“Ms. Boland, take it away.” Professor Kelly beelined over to stand right in front of them. 

“In 1924, Helen Palsgraf was waiting at a train station with her daughters.” Elizabeth just launched straight in, not even looking down at her notes. She really loved this shit. “A man running to catch a moving train was helped on board by two railroad employees, but in the process, the man dropped the package he was carrying. The package contained fireworks and it exploded when it hit the ground, injuring Ms. Palsgraf. She then sued the railroad, claiming its employees had been negligent in helping the man aboard the train.” 

“Very good.” Professor Kelly was practically leaning over their row in front of Elizabeth. It was disgusting. “And what was the outcome?”

“Well, Ms. Palsgraf actually won at trial when the jury found the railroad’s employees had been negligent. She won $6,000!” Elizabeth sounded excited, like she was recapping who got kicked off _Survivor_ last night instead of a boring-ass case that happened before their grandparents had been born. “But on appeal, the appeals court overturned the verdict, ruling that the injury to Ms. Palsgraf wasn’t something the employees helping the man with the package could have foreseen.” 

“Very good. And what proposition does this case stand for?” 

“That a defendant cannot be held liable for a tort if the injury isn’t reasonably foreseeable,” Elizabeth concluded confidently. Her cheeks were a little pink and her eyes were sparkling.

“And do you agree with the court’s holding, Ms. Boland?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said carefully, as if she’d been thinking on it for months just waiting for this moment to give her verdict. “I think Justice Cardozo’s analysis was very thoughtful and well-reasoned.” 

Rio huffed, amused. The dude that wrote the majority opinion had gone on to become part of the Supreme Court. Big of Elizabeth to give him her seal of approval as well. 

The noise caught Professor Kelly’s attention, which wasn’t all that hard considering the dude was still standing way too close to him and Elizabeth both. He broke off staring at Elizabeth to turn to him. 

“Er, Mr. Bonilla? You disagree?” 

Actually, Rio did. Not that he was really passionately invested either way on whether some lady a hundred years ago stuck it to some railroad company, but yeah, the reasoning was sorta bullshit. 

“If you make a mess, you need to clean it up, right? The guy with the package shouldn’t of been running if he had fireworks. And the employees shouldn’t of been trying to shove the guy onto a moving train. Doesn’t matter if they didn’t know the guy had fireworks on him. They did it and the lady got hurt, so they should of been responsible for that.”

He lolled his head to the side to clock Elizabeth’s reaction. She looked offended, as though she had personally written the opinion he was disagreeing with.

“But I guess people who don’t think through the dumb things they do don’t think they should have to deal with _all_ the consequences when it goes bad, right?” He said the last part directly to her just to see her get all riled up. 

It worked. 

\-----

Contracts quickly became his favorite class. It all made sense to him, fit his idea of how the world was _supposed_ _to_ work with how the world _actually did_ work too. 

You made an offer. The other guy either accepted it or rejected it or made his own proposal. Then you accepted that or rejected it or threw out new terms. And so on til you both agreed. When you both agreed, you had a deal. And if the deal went bad somewhere down the line? You had options for what to do about it. Same concepts, whether it was in the boardroom or out on the street. Only difference was in the execution. 

So yeah, several weeks into the semester, he was liking Contracts the best. Didn’t even mind raising his hand to participate, like he was doing now. 

He was describing what happens when you made a contract for one type of product and the seller tried to give you another type instead. 

“When one party makes an offer with their terms, if the second party tries to say they accept the offer but with some different terms added, then there’s no deal, right? The first party wants something particular, they should get it. And if it’s not just what you want, then nah, it wouldn’t be a valid contract.” 

“Good, Mr. Bonilla.” Professor Lee prepared to move on, then stopped. “Yes, Ms. Boland? You had something to add?” 

Rio turned his head to see Elizabeth with her hand up.

“Yes, um, just that, Mr....um…Bonilla is right if we’re talking about traditional common law contracts but isn’t it true that under the Uniform Commercial Code, it would have to be a major amendment to the terms before the contract was void? Minor changes to the terms could still be an acceptance?” 

Rio stared at her. They weren’t set to cover the UCC until later in the semester, had only been talking about traditional contracts so far. He had no idea if that’s what the UCC said or not ( _given that she was saying it, that’s probably what it said though_ ), because he hadn’t read ahead in the textbook weeks in advance like a crazy person. Why the hell was she bringing that up now except to show him up? 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t talking about the UCC, was I?” He said it to her directly before Professor Lee could answer. Or directly to her profile at least, because she wasn’t looking at him even though she was challenging him.

She kept facing the front. Her cheeks were pink. 

“It’s just that, um, sometimes people without a lot of experience in the business world forget to take the UCC into account.”

 _People without a lot of experience in the business world??_ Did she mean _him_?? 

Professor Lee moved on before Rio could recover enough to correct Elizabeth's latest little misapprehension, so he just stayed mad about it the rest of class. _No experience in the business world??_

\-----

She wasn’t just over-the-top in their classes though. Elizabeth was everywhere. She did everything. 

One day in late September, he was having a snack in the cafeteria and flipping bored through a copy of the student newspaper ( _what kind of dumbass name was_ The Student Advocate _anyway_ ) that someone had left behind on the table. He almost choked on a fry when he turned the page to see “Contributor Beth Boland” above an article covering half the page all about the lack of dedicated parking spaces for compact cars in the parking lot. He read every word, absolutely marveling the whole time over how boring it all was and why the fuck she would have taken the time to write it. 

The worst was her ending up on the SBA though. By tradition, the Student Bar Association appointed someone to represent the first-years until the elections were held in the spring. Of course, it ended up being Elizabeth. From what he could tell, this primarily seemed to involve her always manning some kinda sign-up table in the Commons, asking people to sign petitions about broken vending machines or to volunteer for “clean-up duty” at various lecture series. 

He cornered Gretchen about it the next time she was over for Sunday dinner and asked her what the hell they was thinking appointing Elizabeth. 

“ _Elizabeth_?” she mocked questioningly, dropping her voice down deep and low.

He scowled. Gretchen knew how much he hated it when she mimicked his voice. Also, she knew damn well who he meant and he refused to call Elizabeth “Beth” anyhow. Mostly because calling her "Elizabeth" seemed to startle her every time (“It’s _Beth_ actually.” “Yeah, I know.”) but also because "Beth" didn’t seem to fit her at all. And it reminded him of the husband yelling _Bethie_ out the car window the night of the party, which somehow made the name even worse.

“For real, Gretch, what’re you thinkin’,” he persisted, “she’ll be a nightmare.”

“Oh, did you want us to pick you instead?” she asked sarcastically. 

He scoffed. _Obviously not_. 

“That’s what I thought.” Gretchen acted like she had won a point over him instead of just asking a dumb question. 

“We looked for the best person to represent the class. That was her. She helps out. She’s dependable. She’s committed. _Unlike other people I could name_.” 

That was a low blow, who said he wasn’t taking this shit seriously? 

“I do all the reading. I show up every day,” he defended himself hotly. Something about Gretchen always took him back to being eight years old, following her and the rest of his cousins around, all of them bossin’ him like crazy just ‘cause he was the youngest and only boy. 

“There’s only one final per class and that makes up 90% of the grade. I just gotta do well on those and talk in class every once in awhile for the other 10%, and I’m fine.”

“ _I_ know that. _I_ told _you_ that. But there’s more to law school than just grades. There’s getting involved, writing for a journal, joining the Moot Court Board, networking with the local legal community…” she broke off, annoyed, when she saw him rolling his eyes.

“That shit’s for people who’re tryin’ to get big law firm jobs after graduation. I ain’t worried about that.”

“Yeah, _me either_ ,” Gretchen retorted.

He knew that was true. Gretchen’s plan had always been to join her father’s firm after graduation. 

“But I still play the game anyway,” she continued. “And not because I _need a job_. But because the legal community is small and everyone knows everyone. You’ll see the same people all the time. In court, at the negotiating table. What you do now is going to count later. And exactly why are you even in law school if you’re just going to shit on it all the time?” 

She gestured to the new tattoo on his bicep, the edge of the bandage peeking out from under his t-shirt.

“Case in point – how many attorneys have you seen with full sleeves?” 

He glared. She knew he didn’t even have a half-sleeve, much less a full one. And it wasn’t like any of the faculty were gonna be fainting in horror anytime soon over his tattoos when they were all covered by long-sleeved shirts. Gretchen was only two years older, but that had always made her act like she knew better than him about everything under the sun. But she was wrong about “playing the game” and ‘sides if playing it meant acting crazy like Elizabeth, that was a pass.

“Oh yeah? So cancel my plans to get that throat tat, that’s your legal advice for me, _Counselor_?”

They didn’t get anywhere productive after that. 

\-----

If any class could give him trouble, he knew it was gonna be Legal Writing. It was the only one where the grade wasn’t pretty much based on one final exam. The only one that involved a lot of sitting around writing and rewriting and then rewriting a bunch more. 

Everything had to be exact in a rigid way that annoyed the shit out of him. It wasn’t enough to refer to “the Collins case” even if everyone knew exactly what case you meant. No, you had to cite it with just the right numbers and letters and italics and periods “ _Collins v. Gerhardt_ , 237 Mich. 38, 211 N.W. 115 (Mich. 1926)” and then another way the second time you cited it and yet another way if you were citing it twice in the same paragraph. 

And you couldn’t just make your argument the way you wanted, the way that worked best for you. Instead you had to put it in the same fixed structure as everyone else – first always the introduction, next always the factual background, then the case law, then the analysis, so on and on – never any variation, never anything different. It made all the papers the same, made it all so boring. 

Elizabeth loved it, of course. Asking Professor Rose about how they used to cite cases back in the 1800s ( _who cared??_ ).Wondering whether it was better to use “may” or “must” or “shall” in a particular sentence, which he had actually heard her debating with a couple other writing nerds in the Commons one day. 

She even tried to help him a couple times, peeking over his shoulder at his laptop screen, then piping up to let him know he should be writing "Mich. Ct. App." instead of "Mich. Ct. of App." for the Michigan Court of Appeals or that he should "make sure the 'th' in '6th Circuit Court of Appeals' was just regular script instead of superscript because that's proper Bluebooking." It annoyed him every time not the least of which because he usually had no fucking idea what she was talking about. 

\-----

Before school started, Rio had been pretty sure he wasn’t going to be making any lasting friendships with these people. Which was alright because he didn’t need to (didn’t want to neither). He already had work to keep him busy, family, and old friends from growing up that that were close as brothers. 

But halfway through the semester and somewhat against his will, he had somehow ended up friendly with other people in their Section. Through classes, through the weekly happy hours, through just seeing each other all day every day. He knew people’s pets’ names, the cars they drove, where they went to undergrad. 

That made him notice another weird thing about Elizabeth. For all that she never seemed to run out of stuff to say in class, in the Commons, during office hours with professors (if that’s what the multiple orange blocks in the day planner she always had laying out stood for), she never really said anything about herself. 

He could count the personal shit he knew about her on one hand. She wore a ring so she was married (to an asshole who shouted out car windows at her if the night of the party was any indication). She liked flowers on everything. She drank way too much coffee. That was about it. 

And any time he tried to find out anything else, she looked at him suspiciously and clammed up, as though “what did you do this weekend” was some trap question. 

One day though he ended up finding out more about her than he had in all the weeks previous. 

Professor Kelly was late to Torts that morning, which wasn’t nothing new. Judging from the way the dude’s hands shook half the time, Rio was pretty sure he was probably still sleeping one off. 

Like it had been when he was in college, the informal rule was wait fifteen minutes, then leave if the professor didn’t show. But either Elizabeth didn’t know that rule or thought she was too good for it, because thirty minutes in, still no Professor Kelly, Elizabeth was still sitting there. 

Him and her were the only ones left, everyone else having peaced out to enjoy a free period. Rio had thought about leaving too but didn’t really have nowhere else to be plus he really wanted to see how long she'd stay. 

It wasn’t like Elizabeth took being alone together as an invitation to talk though. She had pointedly kept her head down since he had come in, going through her notes with her highlighters. After thirty minutes though, it looked like there was no more highlighting left to be done because she closed her notebook and started rummaging through her big wheeled bag. 

Bored, he tilted his head to see what she was doing, then had to repress a snort. Hand to God, she was actually pulling out another notebook, this one with _To Do Lists_ written in fancy black script on the cover. How a fucking _to do list_ called for an actual notebook to write it in and not on a scrap of paper or the back of an old receipt like normal people used amazed him. 

Oblivious to him staring, she opened the notebook to a bookmarked page with the title _Family_ (she had _multiple_ to do lists and she _named_ them?) and bent her head down over it. He craned his neck closer, slow as he could to not draw her attention. 

There were two columns on the page, one labeled _Annie_ and one _Dean_. The _Annie_ column was a whole lot longer than the _Dean_ one. 

Under _Annie_ , he read _Vitamins_ and _Make doctor appt_ and _Redo bedroom_ and something that started _School Plan for…_ The rest was hidden by her arm. 

Under _Dean_ , he made out _Dry Cleaner_ and _Discuss allowance_ before suddenly the notebook was being slapped shut. 

Lazily, he looked up. Elizabeth was fuming silently at him, cheeks all red and eyes narrowed, the picture of outrage at his snooping. 

Unashamed, Rio looked back. If it was so top secret, why was she writing it now, here? What did she expect when they were crammed into desks eight inches apart, with him bored as hell? For him just not to look?

Besides, her getting pissed at him ( _what else was new_ ) was worth it. Getting that little glimpse into her life felt like walking by someone’s house at night and seeing into their living room when they forgot to close the blinds. 

Dean was the husband, obviously. Did she actually give him an allowance? He could just picture her laying down the law. Annie must be her kid, and shit, that was fucking fascinating to think of her with a kid. He’d never heard Elizabeth mention her. He wondered if she had blue eyes like Elizabeth, how old she was? 

They spent the next thirty minutes in silence, icy on her part, calm on his. Kelly never showed, but neither of them left. 

\-----

Sometimes he found himself taking the opposite position in class discussions even when he secretly agreed with her, just to see her get fired up. Which is how he found himself in Property one day heatedly arguing that the approach used in Western states regarding property owners’ rights to water on their land should be the standard used in states east of the Mississippi. He thought Elizabeth was going to have a stroke. 

It was one of the most fun classes he had all semester.

\-----

It was the week before Halloween. Their next Legal Writing paper was due in two days, so he hit up Courtney to meet him at the law library on Saturday morning. 

Courtney was blonde and talkative and one of the better writers in their Section. She kinda sucked at putting together a persuasive argument though, so that’s where he came in. It had turned out to be a mutually beneficial studying relationship. They’d also hooked up drunk after a couple of the Section happy hours so it was mutually beneficial there too.

He sprawled in his seat while Courtney checked the case law cites in his paper. Across the library, he could see Elizabeth. She was dressed down more than he had ever seen her, wearing dark jeans and a blouse with little flowers all over it. 

He watched her walk up and down the aisles, stopping periodically in the stacks to pull down this book or that one. What was she even doing? 

“It must be torture sitting next to her in every class.” He looked over to see Courtney watching him watch Elizabeth. 

He hummed in response. _Torture_ was one word for it, for sure. 

“She has her hand up half the class, I don’t know how you can stand it.” 

He shrugged that off, a little annoyed suddenly. It was true, yeah, Elizabeth’s hand was up more than down. She could definitely stand to chill a little. But class participation was kinda the point, wasn’t it? Even if Elizabeth did take it ten times too far. And it took the pressure off the rest of them to be called on, which he couldn’t complain about and didn’t see why Courtney was neither. 

He watched Elizabeth walk down another aisle, looked at how her tight jeans hugged the curves of her hips and ass, before she disappeared around one of the stacks. She never wore jeans to class. 

“Can you believe she’s almost 30?” 

No. He couldn’t. 

He wished Courtney would hurry up checking his paper so he could get out of here. Spending Saturday morning at the law library was not his idea of a fun weekend.

“Apparently, she’s worked at a car dealership for the last few years. I heard her talking to Professor Raven about engine trouble he was having. I can’t even picture her around cars, you know?” 

Actually, neither could he. He was suddenly completely diverted at the thought of Elizabeth with her flowers glued to everything and colorful highlighters all in a row actually knowing shit about cars. Was she selling them? Working on them? What? 

He only had to half-listen anyway as Courtney launched into one of her favorite topics, why there were so few women in their class as compared to men. He didn’t have no problem with her point of view, but he had also heard all this shit before at the last three happy hours. 

“If you think about it, it’s really the administration’s fault for admitting older women, especially older _married_ women. Classes get too intense, so they use their biological clocks ticking as an excuse to take a break for a semester or two, then they end up not finishing. And it just ends up hurting _all_ women, because then the school thinks it’s easier to just admit another guy instead. I’ll bet you that exact thing happens with Beth Boland. She’ll just get pregnant and drop out, you know?”

“Yeah,” he agreed absently, still thinking about whether Elizabeth could actually _work_ on cars or was it all book learning, like, could she change a spark plug or just spend ten minutes describing the historical background of one?

“Oh.” Courtney’s voice sounded funny. He looked up to see her eyes fixed past his shoulder. It broke him out of his daydream abruptly, made him quickly replay what she’d just been saying, what _he’d_ said in return.

Shit. 

He knew without turning around who’d be standing behind him. Turned around anyway to face the music. 

Elizabeth had made her way down and through the stacks to end up behind their table, just a couple feet away.

She wasn’t even looking at Courtney. She stared straight at him instead, face like stone. She didn’t say nothing, just turned on her heel after a couple seconds and walked away. 

\-----

It was fucking Siberia after that. 

She barely acknowledged him anymore, hardly even looked at him. If he volunteered something in class, she kept her hand down, didn’t challenge him or try to engage. If she volunteered something and he responded, she let it go, even when he deliberately disagreed with her to provoke her. 

She acted like he wasn’t there beside her, in every class, every day. 

It drove him a little crazy but only because of how unfair it was. He hadn’t even said nothing, Courtney had! And why did it bother her so much anyway? She had a kid already so why did she care? 

He wondered if he should apologize or some shit, but that was a bridge way way too far, plus he had nothing to apologize for. And he didn’t care what Elizabeth thought about him anyway. The semester was almost over, and finals were really the only thing that mattered. 

But then, weirdly, it seemed like Courtney might have actually been psychic. 

A couple weeks before finals, he got to Contracts one afternoon to find no Elizabeth but all her stuff laid out and half of it overflowing into his space like usual. He figured she was in the bathroom so he took the opportunity to kick her big bag closer to her own chair. He kicked harder than he should of though and ended up knocking over the books she had stacked on top. Rio bent quickly to stack them back up before she got back and found him rooting through her shit and had yet another reason to be pissed off. 

Then he registered the book he was holding. It wasn’t a textbook. Wasn’t even law-related. 

_What to Expect When You’re Expecting_. 

He stared at the picture of the lady holding her round belly on the front cover, his jaw a little slack. Pregnant.

He woke up and got the book back in the stack just in time because Elizabeth was making her way to her seat, ignoring him like usual as she settled in. 

Class started, but he barely took any notes the entire period, just kept thinking about the book. Elizabeth. Pregnant. Sure, Courtney had predicted it, but he still found it hard to believe. 

He watched her over the next couple weeks as they raced towards finals. Tried to see if he could tell. She seemed more tired maybe. There were smudges under her eyes like she hadn’t been sleeping. And she was paler than she usually was, which damn, that was really saying something. It made her blue eyes look huge. 

He waited for it all to drop off - the volunteering, the obsessive note-taking, the hand in the air every class. 

But it didn’t. 

Instead, she doubled down. She added a purple highlighter to her neat little row. She wrote another article for _The Student Advocate_ , this one arguing for the advantages of adding more vegetarian lunch options to the cafeteria menu (he caught himself nodding along at one point reading it and he ate meat twice a day). She passed out flyers in the Commons asking people to bring in a can for the SBA's Thanksgiving Food Drive.

He snuck looks into her enormous bag when he could, looking for the distinctive cover of the book. Every time he looked, it was there. It was there before Thanksgiving break, it was there when they came back. He saw it for the last time during their last final, as he got up to turn in his exam, leaving her behind looking determined to use up every second of the exam period. He wondered if it would be the last time he’d see her, whether she’d be back for the spring semester, and why he even cared. 

\-----

A week after their last final was over, Rio got the email one evening that the first-year grades had been posted outside the Dean’s office. It was two weeks til Christmas. He was headed to Canada the next morning for a few days with Mick to handle a distributor who’d been giving them some accounting problems. 

He debated leaving off checking grades until he got back. He wasn’t real worried. None of the finals had been too bad and he figured he’d probably have a decent chance of ending up around the top 20% that everyone else obsessively talked about all the time. 

But school was on the way to the border crossing and he found himself pulling up outside the building, told Mick he just had to run inside for a minute. 

As he jogged up the front stairs, he saw Elizabeth. She was holding the front door open for a shorter girl wearing an enormous yellow coat and a purple hat with fuzzy pompoms that looked like ice cream cones. 

He hadn’t seen her since their last final, when she’d sat there next to him vibrating with tension as she scribbled furiously in the exam sheet. He picked up his pace to get closer. He caught up with them as they turned down the hallway that led to the Dean's office, but stayed far enough back that they didn't notice him.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just wait in the car.” The girl’s voice was young, with just a hint of a whine.

“Because dogs wait in the car, Annie, and you’re not a dog.” Elizabeth sounded no-nonsense, but also warm and relaxed in a way he had never heard before. 

_Annie_? This was Annie? But she had to be at least sixteen or seventeen, no way this was Elizabeth’s kid. 

“Well, spank you very much for noticing!” 

“And why do you always have to say ‘spank you very much’? Now Elizabeth sounded exasperated, a tone he was more familiar with. “You’re not Ace Ventura either.” 

_Sisters_ , he realized. It was in their voices.

They walked close together, Elizabeth at the girl’s pace instead of her usual brisk stride. Looked like the girl was just as oblivious as Elizabeth usually was. They still hadn’t noticed him behind them. 

“Besides, the book says that you should be walking as much as possible, which _you would know_ if you would just sit down and read it.” From the way she said it, it sounded like this wasn’t the first time Elizabeth had beaten this drum.

“Why should _I_ read it when _you_ read it, quote it, describe it, tell me about it 24-7?” The girl threw up her hands. “I hear your voice reading that book in my dreams! Like my very own Book on Tape that won’t ever turn off!”

“That’s very dramatic, Annie, and also very false.” Elizabeth sounded indulgent, amused. 

“At least we could have stopped for a Grape Slushie before you dragged me up here!”

“You don’t need a Grape Slushie, you need to drink some apple juice.” Just like that, Elizabeth was back to bossy again. 

“I _told_ you – _I_ am not the one who needs it, _he_ needs it.”

“That excuse is not going to work every time you want junk food, and besides you don’t even know it’s a _he_.” 

“I told you, I have a feeling,” the girl said, lofty, and he could just picture Elizabeth rolling her eyes.

They were almost to the Dean’s office when the girl stopped suddenly and yanked the hat off her head, uncovering a fluffy cloud of hair sticking straight up with static. She began trying to peel off her coat, thrashing around like a squirrel in a circle, as she struggled to remove her arms from the sleeves. 

“ _God_ , why is it so _hot_ in here, I’m _dying_ ….hey, _you_ , back me up here, don’t you think I deserve a Grape Slushie for getting dragged along on a Saturday morning to _check grades_?” 

The girl had turned all the way around in her spin and finally noticed him. 

His initial impression from behind had been right. She was young. Cute in her way, with big brown eyes and muddy blonde hair framing a little elf face. She didn’t look nothing like Elizabeth, but something in the way they both stood, the way they cocked their heads, was the same. 

The girl finally succeeded in throwing off her big coat. She bunched it up to hold in one hand while her other hand came up to rest on her middle. His eyes followed the movement. 

And then he found himself staring, jaw dropping open a little. 

She was tiny everywhere but her stomach, which was straining round and pregnant against a Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. 

Oh. Okay. _Right._ He got it now. 

He knew he was staring. Forced himself to stop and look over to Elizabeth instead. She was watching him watch her sister and she looked _pissed_. She took a little step towards him and lifted her chin like she was ready to fight him or some shit if he said anything to the kid. 

Rio scowled back at her, instantly annoyed. Damn, he knew him and Elizabeth went at it but did she really peg him for a guy who would drag a knocked up high school kid? What kinda asshole did she think he was? Also, she looked hot as hell, all mama bear pissed off, blue eyes blazing and fists clenched at her sides, and that just made him madder. 

“Yeah, I think you deserve a Grape Slushie for puttin’ up with all this _shit_ ,” he addressed the kid, but looked back pointedly at Elizabeth on the last word.

The girl grinned and stuck out her little fist at him. 

“My man!”

He bumped his fist to hers without looking, still staring down Elizabeth the whole time. 

“Relax,” he told her, “you ain’t the only person in the class to think about checking grades.” 

She winced at little at him saying _ain’t_ , like she always did, which, like always, really made him want to do it more. 

“Well, please, go ahead.” She gestured towards the grade sheet hanging on the wall. Icy polite, like _she_ was the mature one. 

“No, no, ladies first.” He gave her back the same gesture. He could play this game with her all day. 

The little sister was looking back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match, mouth hanging slightly open.

He watched Elizabeth dart a look at her sister and visibly decide to be the “bigger person.” Not without shooting him a withering look though as she stepped up to the grade sheet, like he was somehow the annoying one for showing up in a public place to do the same thing she was. 

Rio watched her bite her lip as she scanned the paper, looking for her name. He knew she found it when her eyes stopped. She stood still for a second. Then she was smiling, big and bright, and it was like he could see all the tension leaving her body. 

She didn’t step back from the sheet right away though. Instead, her eyes kept scanning the list, shifting down until they stopped again. And then she was smiling even bigger, looking like she was fucking lit up from within. 

She turned back to him, face shining, and for a second, he couldn’t help himself, he smiled back. Forgot for a second how annoying and bossy she could be. She just looked so happy. 

But then, he realized, she wasn’t just happy. There was something more there too. She seemed somehow…triumphant? He cocked his head, regarded her quizzically. 

She nodded her head towards the grade sheet while tapping the paper delicately with one pink fingernail, inviting him silently to look. 

He took a step closer, looked where her finger was pointing. 

  1. _Boland, Elizabeth._



Twelfth in the class. That was top 10%, really good if you cared about shit like this, in line for all the best internships and jobs. No wonder she was happy. 

He started to open his mouth to congratulate her. But she wasn’t finished. She locked eyes with him again to make sure he was still watching, then looked back to the grade sheet. She slowly dragged her finger _down_ the list, pushing into the paper hard enough to crinkle it, until she stopped and tapped it again.

Again he looked where her finger was pointing.

  1. _Bonilla, Christopher_.



She gave him a second to process it, then drove the point home, dragged her finger slowly, almost lovingly, under the letters in his name.

He was stunned. All the classes had been graded on a curve. Even though she was ranked higher, they were still only separated by less than a few points. She knew that, he knew that, everyone knew that. He was still top 20%, same as her. 

But here she was, rubbing it in, looking absolutely delighted, like she had won a game that he hadn’t even been playing with her. 

She seemed to take his silence as more of her victory. She smiled and turned away to her sister. 

“Come on, Annie, let’s go get Grape Slushies.” The girl let out a “Woo-Hoo!” and started struggling back into her coat. Elizabeth’s hand came up automatically to hold the back of the coat so her sister could slip her arm through. 

Then the two started back down the hall, leaving him standing alone in front of the Dean’s office. Before they got too far though, Elizabeth turned back and looked him straight in the eyes, satisfaction still shining all over her face. 

“Merry Christmas, _Rio_ , see you next year.” 

It was the first time he could ever remember her calling him that. 

\-----

He thought on all of it all the way into Canada. Even had to tell Mick a couple times he wasn’t being quiet ‘cause he was pissed, just had a lot of shit on his mind. 

Grades weren’t really ever going to mean much for his situation. He wasn’t trying for a job at some big firm after graduation or worrying about impressing some asshole who was gonna end up a judge one day. 

So it shouldn’t even matter that she had come out on top ‘cause he didn't care and he hadn’t even been trying. 

But it did.

Seeing the triumph in her face and the sparkle in her eyes at having beaten him had made it a whole new ballgame somehow. She might be better than a lot of the people they went to school with, but she wasn’t better than him. He’d show her as much next semester. The thought made him smile as he drove along, planning out his next moves. 

_Game on_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fudging details a little like on posting grades by name instead of blind grading numbers, but it's necessary for THE DRAMA. Thank you for all the comments, I love them so and hope I can keep doing this justice (pun, ha)!


	3. 1L - Spring Semester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first year gets harder for Beth. Rio doesn't make it any easier.

In theory, Beth understood that as interim 1L Class Representative, since she had only been appointed by the SBA in the fall, and not elected by the class as a whole, it was only fair that the class got a chance to cast their votes in an election. 

She understood it, she did. In _theory_. But in practice? 

It just seemed totally unfair. 

She had done so much for the SBA during the fall semester (and before the semester even started if you wanted to count the welcome party, which Beth thought should absolutely count). Didn’t it make more sense for her to retain the position of 1L Class Representative the whole year, then the class could vote on its 2L Class Representative at the beginning of their second year? 

(And, by then, with a whole year of SBA experience as the 1L Class Representative, Beth knew she’d be a shoo-in to be elected as the 2L Class Representative). 

But Gretchen told her there was no way to change the system this far into it. So Beth’d just have to go through the election. Even if it was mostly a formality. 

Two weeks before the semester started (and a week before the deadline), she turned in her request form to be included on the ballot, along with her position statement outlining what she planned to do (planned to _continue_ to do, in her case, of course) as the Class Representative if elected ( _when_ elected), to the Dean’s Office. Ballots would be distributed to the 1L student mailboxes the Monday they got back and could be turned in all week. The winner and the alternate who received the second-highest number of votes would be announced by email over the weekend. 

The morning of the first day back, Beth picked up her mail from her mailbox on her way to class. She checked the seating chart on the door to Torts and was satisfied to see she would still be in the front row for the semester (although much less satisfied to see the seating was once again alphabetical, meaning she was once again spending another semester next to _him_ ). She got to her desk and took the time to set up her notebook and supplies just the way she liked before turning to her mail. 

She was about to open the ballot envelope when Rio dropped down heavily in his seat next to her, startling her, like he always did. Why couldn’t he ever just sit down like a normal person?

“Miss me?” He was grinning at her when she reluctantly looked over at him. He was dressed for the cold, with a thick gray cashmere scarf wound around his neck and a darker gray beanie pulled down snug over his head. She had to admit that the gray was a good color for him. His cheeks were flushed faintly pink from the cold. 

It annoyed her how rested and relaxed he looked.

“No.” 

“Ouch,” he laughed. 

_Dammit_. Her New Year’s resolution had been to try to be nicer to him. Well, not to be _nicer_ exactly, but at least not to _get into it_ with him so much. 

After the last time she had seen him, the day that grades had come out, she had felt almost, well, _bad_ , about rubbing it in his face that she was in the top 10% and he was only in the top 20%. 

It had just felt so _good_ in the moment after he had been so impossible all semester. And especially after she had overheard him and Courtney talking about her in the library. 

Overhearing Courtney talk trash had barely registered. Courtney was a bitch. Beth knew that. 

But it had sat funny in her chest when she had realized that Rio must have been talking about her too, before Beth had wandered close enough to hear them. 

And it wasn’t like Beth hadn’t _known_ he was petty since literally the first day they met. But she just hadn’t thought he was catty in that way. She knew that she had annoyed him all semester (which was really really _really_ ironic when she thought about how much _he_ had annoyed _her_ ). But his annoyance had seemed tinged with something like, respect, maybe? She had never gotten the sense that he thought she didn’t belong. 

So to hear him agree with Courtney and find out that he thought Beth wouldn’t be able to handle it – would just end up dropping out – it had hit a nerve. Well, two nerves really. Because it meant that he didn’t respect her and never had. And because ever since Annie had first told her about the baby, Beth’s biggest fear had been that Annie would end up dropping out. 

But then all through Winter Break, every time she had thought about her grades, still so high and happy about the results (and next semester, given all the tips and tricks she had learned, she knew she could place even higher than twelfth!), she had also thought about him. She remembered how easy he had been with Annie. And how warm his smile had been when she had pointed out her rank, like he was somehow just happy for her, before he even knew his own rank. 

So as one of her New Year’s resolutions (she had several sets of resolutions, organized around school, home, and family), Beth told herself she would try not to let his little ways bother her so much this semester. He was young, after all, and she should be ( _was_ ) the mature one. It was time to take the same advice she kept giving Annie every time her sister complained about the kids at school giving her a hard time about her pregnancy. _Just ignore it_. 

And now it was all going to hell in the first two minutes of the semester.

She made herself smile serenely at him in half-apology, which made him furrow his brows and stare back at her curiously. 

She turned away and got back to what was really important. Beth opened the envelope from the SBA containing the ballot and the position statements from the 1L Class Representative candidates. There were several pages inside. On top was her statement. She couldn’t resist taking a moment to read through it again. It had taken her awhile to remember all the SBA activities she had volunteered for in the fall, but she had wanted to include all of them to really show the breadth of her experience. She thought all the time it had taken her to put it together was worth it in the end because her statement had really come together well. 

The next statement was Michael Chang’s. Beth knew him vaguely from seeing him at a couple of the SBA’s weekend lecture series. Michael was in the night Section though, which pretty much guaranteed he wouldn’t win. Both because the night students’ Section was the smallest and because most of the night students worked full time during the day, meaning they weren’t around school as much and not as well-known to the rest of the class in the much larger day Sections. 

Still, Michael’s position statement wasn’t half-bad, she thought, as she read through it critically. If he came in second, Beth wouldn’t mind having him as her alternate. 

The last statement in the stack was from…what in the absolute _hell_?? 

It was a statement from… _him_. From _Rio_. She stared at it, dumbfounded. Had he somehow put it in her mailbox to mess with her? Was it a joke? It had to be. Instead of listing all the SBA activities he had participated in during the fall (which was _zero_ , Beth knew) and all the plans he had for the spring semester (also likely _zero_ , Beth knew), his entire statement was one sentence: “ _Vote for me and I’ll get you what you want._ ”

It had to be a joke. She turned back to him for an explanation, hoped he would do something like laugh and say “Gotcha” because there was no way this could be real. 

He _did_ laugh but he didn’t say “Gotcha!” 

He said, “May the best man, oh excuse me, Elizabeth – _person_ – win, yeah?” 

And then he smiled. 

\-----

She fumed about it all week. The very _fact_ that he would actually _run_ for _1L Class Representative_ in order to join the _Student Bar Association_ was absolutely _outrageous_! It shouldn’t even have been allowed! He had literally never showed any interest in anything the SBA did other than the weekly happy hours and those weren’t even officially-sanctioned events! And more than once during the fall semester, when she had been manning sign-up tables for the SBA in the Commons, he had stopped by her table, made her go through her entire spiel explaining what the sign-up was for – all the while interrupting her to ask multiple pointless questions – then had told her thoughtfully that he would “for real think on” signing up before walking off! And then he never actually came back and signed up! 

The whole thing was just _outrageous_. 

\-----

So of course it just figured that he ended up winning the election. 

The unfairness of it all would have made her cry, if she were a person who cried. Instead, it made her want to scream. 

Beth knew that she maybe might have sometimes come off last semester as a “gunner,” a really gross term she had hated ever since she had first learned about it when researching law school. Gunners were supposedly those people who sat in the front row and over-participated and annoyed all the other students by being teacher’s pet. And yes, she knew she sat in the front row, but that was due to the seating chart, and she didn’t think she ever really over-participated or could be described as annoying. Or if she had, it was just sometimes and definitely not all the time. Not enough so that people wouldn’t vote for her, right?

And she knew that somehow (inexplicably) Rio was both well-known and well-liked. Whenever she saw him outside of the classroom, he was usually surrounded by other students (and many times, girls, who looked like they were giggling and maybe flirting with him, which was just really not appropriate in a school setting, in Beth’s opinion). 

But Beth had thought that all the work she did for the class would have outweighed something so small as who had more friends. 

Apparently, it didn’t. 

The silver lining was that she received the second highest number of votes, which meant that she would be the alternate representative. But it was cold comfort. 

She knew she had to congratulate him and get it over with, lest there be a repeat of the little scene outside the Dean’s Office when grades had come out, this time with _him_ rubbing it in to _her_. ( _Oh, but how sweet it had been to point out that she had won_.)

So Monday morning, when he got to Torts, she waited until he was settled and plugged in his laptop. Then she took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

“Rio.” His name always seemed to stick in her mouth. 

He turned to her immediately, like _he_ had been waiting for _her_. Turned his whole body actually, twisting around in his chair to face her, propping his chin in his hand and regarding her expectantly. 

She cleared her throat again. _Just get it over with._

“Congratulations on winning the election.” 

There. She had done it.

“Thank you so much, Elizabeth, that really means a lot coming from you.” His voice sounded over-the-top sincere, but still raspy in that way that sometimes made her shiver. 

She nodded stiffly and started to turn away. But he wasn’t finished with her.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, there’ll still be plenty for you to work on. I’ll make you a to do list, okay?”

She was confused. What did he mean?

“Why would you make me a list?”

“A good boss knows how to delegate, Elizabeth,” he lectured her, mock-sternly, wagging one finger lazily. 

“You are _not_ my _boss_.” 

She knew that he was winding her up. She knew that being frosty and clipped was just giving him exactly what he wanted. But she literally couldn’t stop herself. 

He mimed confusion, knitting his eyebrows and cocking his head in his hand to regard her quizzically.

“Nah? But I’m the 1L Class Representative, right? And you my assistant? Don’t that make me your boss?” 

He was just such an… _asshole_ , it was unbelievable.

“I’m not _your_ assistant!” she knew she should lower her voice, but that was hard to do when she felt like her head was going to fly off, “I’m the _class’s_ alternate!” 

“Same thing,” he drawled, losing interest and turning to the front, leaving her to glare at his profile.

\-----

The worst part was that it did end up kind of being the same thing. As the Representative and the alternate, they both were supposed to attend all the SBA meetings. The least that could be said was that he showed up to _most_ of them, although he seemed primarily to be there to lounge slouched in his chair and lazily throw out ridiculous suggestions that made some of their more weak-minded colleagues laugh, until Gretchen would tell him to knock it off. When it actually came time for anything to be done, _she_ was the one who volunteered to participate or to represent the 1L class. 

It got harder and harder to remember her New Year’s resolution every day. 

\-----

He was cool. 

That’s what Annie had said about him, that day in December, the day they had met.

“Who was cool?” Beth had asked absently, still thinking about her grades and how good it felt, how _satisfying_ it was, to be in the top 10%.

“Your school friend,” Annie had said, like it was so obvious, her lips stained purple from her drink. “He was cool.”

Beth had corrected her immediately. Rio wasn’t her friend and he wasn’t cool.

Even as she had been saying it though, she had heard the lie. Not about the “friend” part, of course – Rio _definitely_ wasn’t her friend. (Definitely _not_ ).

But the “cool” part? Yes, all right, she could admit, at least to herself, he could be considered cool. (Even if she would never admit it to Annie lest her little sister start thinking she too should go around saying “ain’t” just to annoy people and wearing her hoodies half hanging off her head). 

What Annie was too young to understand was that it was easy to be cool when you had everything so easy. 

When you were single with no responsibilities, of course you could go to all the happy hours and drink and have fun and make friends who voted for you to represent the class like it was some kind of high school popularity contest and not an actual serious election for an actual serious position. 

And it wasn’t like Beth wasn’t friendly with some people in their Section too. She had people to sit with at the SBA events. She even was part of a study group. 

But it was just so much harder to find common ground when people were so _young_ , not just in age but in life experience. So much harder to come up with small talk. What could she say? 

“Nice to meet you, have you also had guardianship of your baby sister since she was ten years old?” 

“How was your weekend - does your husband also complain all the time that you don’t spend as much time with him now that you’re not working as his secretary?” 

She was certain that’s not what Rio’s small talk at the happy hours sounded like.

And when you had money, it was even easier to be cool. You didn’t have to worry about stretching your allowance to cover not just your own school needs (and why did law school textbooks cost so damn much?) but also how you could make sure your little sister with a baby on the way had what she needed, from small things like pre-natal vitamins to big, impossibly expensive things like cribs to make over her room. Even things that six months ago you wouldn’t even have thought would be needed, like trendy sneakers and cool maternity clothes that didn’t look like maternity clothes so maybe the kids at school would lay off her a little if she didn’t stick out so much. 

You didn’t have to worry about stuff like that when you had rich parents who gave you everything, like he obviously did. She could tell. It wasn’t just the expensive watch he wore or his clothes or the fact that she had never once seen him bring his lunch in from home. He’d said it all with the offhand way he had gestured to his iBook when he had asked her disbelievingly why she didn’t just get a laptop. (Just get a laptop, like it was the easiest thing in the world.) 

She knew for a fact that his laptop cost over $1,500. She had priced out all the options back when she had still hoped there would be enough money in their budget for her to get one for school. Even if she could have found a way to swing it, there would have been no way she could have justified buying such an expensive one. 

And he carried it so casually, tucked under his arm, not even in a case to protect it, like it was worth the same as her $1.99 paper notebooks. Maybe to him it was.

Yes, she thought, it was easy to be cool when you had everything handed to you like he did. 

\-----

Their spring semester 1L core classes once again included Torts, Contracts, and Legal Writing, although Property had been replaced by Criminal Law. 

Beth knew she wouldn’t have any problem with the second semester of Torts or Contracts, since she had gotten As in both during the fall. And she was really looking forward to Criminal Law, which just on subject matter alone was sure to be so much more exciting than Property. 

But she was a little worried about Legal Writing II.

Legal Writing had been her favorite class during the fall. She had loved structuring her arguments in her legal briefs, knowing she was using the same format and language that thousands of other lawyers before her had used. 

And she had loved the exactness of all of it. She had loved knowing that every case, every statute, every article, every _thing_ you could think of, all had a precise way to be cited. And each cite had a correct order and a very specific way to reference the particular journal or reporter or statute using exactly the right numbers and abbreviations with the precise italics and underlining. 

It was like knowing a secret code. It was like being part of a secret society where if you didn’t know the password, they wouldn’t let you in. 

And she had been _good_ at it. Objectively, undisputedly good at it. It all just came naturally to her.

(She had even tried to help _him_ too, when it became clear to her that he was just writing things down any which way without any respect for proper Bluebook citing. But he hadn’t appreciated it. She still squirmed thinking of what made her stop. She had been trying to tell him one of her tips for knowing when to cite Michigan as “MI” and when as “Mich.” when he had tilted his head back to the ceiling and very loudly asked, “Why you keep looking at my work, Elizabeth?” which had turned the heads of everyone around them and had almost gotten Professor Lee’s attention, and that could have resulted in an Honor Code violation for sure.) 

The syllabus for Legal Writing II had her a little worried though. It seemed like now that students had the foundation of how they should be writing, the focus of the course was expanding to include oral advocacy as well. 

Instead of just a paper, like in the fall, the final grade would include mandatory participation in a moot court competition where the class would be graded on their oral argument skills. Not only would they be directly competing against each other, but the arguments would be judged by local lawyers and judges who would be interrupting them to ask questions to simulate the experience of arguing before an actual appeals court like the Michigan Supreme Court. 

The final paper, Beth could handle (easily). But the oral argument? It was an unknown. She didn’t like unknowns. 

So, she worried.

\-----

They weren’t very far into the semester when she noticed how weirdly good Rio was at Criminal Law. 

At first, she blamed it all on his outline. God, his _outline_ – every time she thought about that outline, she burned with jealousy. The first time she had glanced over and seen it up on his laptop screen, she had actually done a double take. Now she snuck glances at it every chance she got. 

It was dense, color-coded, and cross-referenced. It was organized just like she liked to do hers, first capitalized roman numerals for all the subject headings, then capital letters for the chapter breakdowns, then small roman numerals for the section breakdowns, then individual bullet points for the cases – all cited correctly with the full case names and cross-cites to both the state and regional reporter journals (she would've bet cash money that he didn't even know that there _were_ separate state and regional reporter journals) – and so on. The outline even looked like it had embedded hyperlinks to the Michigan Criminal Code, for God’s sake. 

She just couldn’t understand it. She had sat next to him all fall, had seen his laptop screen every day, and he had _never_ put together an outline like that. His usual preferred way of taking and organizing his notes had looked to be staccato bursts of half sentences without any capitalization or punctuation combined with vague and bizarre shorthand references to cases (one day in Contracts, she had been stunned to realize that he was citing _Ordon v. Johnson_ , the leading 1956 Michigan Supreme Court case on whether specific performance for oral contracts was allowable under the Statute of Frauds past the one-year mark as “ordon/johnson, ‘56, oral con bad > 1 yr b/c S/F”). 

So it was more than fair to say his previous outlines had looked like ee cummings poems mixed with CIA cypher codes. But his Crim Law outline? It was a work of art. 

He finally caught her trying to peek at it one day. Instead of getting mad, he tilted his laptop screen towards her so she could see it better.

“Nice, right? Gretch knows her shit.” 

“Gretchen… _Zorada_?? That’s her outline?” Gretchen wasn’t just the President of the SBA. She was Editor-in-Chief of the school’s Criminal Law Journal and had interned at the Wayne County Prosecutor’s Office, the biggest prosecuting attorney office in Michigan. 

Gretchen had _given_ him her outline? Why would she do that? Were they dating? Beth had thought he was dating Courtney Pearsall. 

He smiled at her confusion, seeming smug somehow.

“Yeah. Couldn’t leave her favorite cousin hanging, could she?” 

_Cousins?_

“Gretchen Zorada is your cousin?” 

“One of ‘em, yeah.” He said it like he had dozens. She couldn’t even imagine. Dean and both his parents were only children, and on her side, it was just her and Annie. 

But as the semester wore on, if she was being _totally_ fair, she had to admit that it wasn’t just the outline that made him so good. Every time Professor Rooney called on him, he had the answer, and usually without looking down at his laptop. He could easily identify the difference between specific and general intent crimes. He didn’t get tripped up when the elements of a crime differed between the common law definition of the crime to the statutory definition. He was just really good.

It made her work harder. It wasn’t as intuitive to her, sure. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her skills at organization to make charts and lists and _her own perfect outline_ to help her study better.

One day in mid-February, before class started, she was reviewing the chart she had made of all the major felonies and their classifications under the Michigan Criminal Code. 

“Nah, that’s wrong,” she heard him say. He was leaning too close to her, peering over her shoulder to look at her chart. She had half a mind to loudly ask him what he was doing staring at her work, to pay him back for last semester, but first of all, she was more mature than that ( _just ignore him_ ), and second of all, she knew he wouldn’t have been embarrassed and would probably have just laughed. (Which was actually the same reason that kept her from calling him Christopher in spite for always calling her Elizabeth). 

“What is?” she asked, just to humor him. Nothing on the chart was wrong; she had checked and doublechecked all the information before she made it.

“B&E. It’s a Class D felony, not Class E.” 

She looked down at her chart, where she had _Breaking and Entering_ highlighted in blue, her color for Class E felonies.

“The text says it’s Class E.” 

“Yeah, that’s out of date, they reclassified it earlier this year.” 

She hesitated. He sounded so sure. On the other hand, it would be just like him to want to mess up her chart.

“How do you even know that?” she hedged for time. 

He made an exaggerated production of looking around to see if anyone was listening, then leaned closer still, like he was going to tell her a secret. She forced herself not to flinch. 

“Lots of practice,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. 

After class, she went to the library and looked up the Michigan Criminal Code. 

He was right. The Breaking and Entering statute had been amended and reenacted on January 1 to change the felony classification from Class E to Class D. 

Beth made a mental note to remember it for the final and noted it carefully in a footnote (with a very small font) in her outline. But she didn’t change her chart. Even though it killed her every time she looked at it not to redo it to highlight _Breaking and Entering_ with green, her color for Class D felonies. She was too afraid that he would notice. And she just wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

\-----

Nothing seemed to faze him. Nothing. 

Twice so far in Torts he had accidentally kicked Professor Kelly while stretching out his long legs under his desk. Both times Beth had been in the middle of answering a question and had stopped with a squeak when Professor Kelly yelped and stumbled backwards. She would have been almost too mortified to ever come back to class after the first time, much less the second, but Rio hadn’t even seemed embarrassed (“Hey, my bad, Professor, didn’t see you standing so close”). 

He volunteered a lot more this semester than last semester too, and sometimes it was fascinating to listen to what he would say. 

Beth was always so careful to make sure her answers followed the majority position or opinion on any issue, so she could show the professor she knew what the answer should be. 

But he didn’t seem to care if he was seen taking the minority position. Or even some position that was neither the majority nor minority but just uniquely his own. 

It drove her crazy sometimes. He just said what he thought, as if the law should bend to his view on how things should be, instead of the other way around. 

She tried to remember her resolution, tried not to get into with him, but sometimes the things he said were just so outside the norm that she couldn’t let it go. 

Like one day in Contracts, when he argued that in addition to actual damages, a person should be able to recover compensatory and punitive damages as standard remedies for a simple breach of contract. 

“If I’m understanding Mr., um, Bonilla ( _dammit, it was almost as hard to call him that during class as it was to say Rio anywhere else_ ) correctly, if he were to hire me to paint his house for $100 and I didn’t show up, he thinks his remedy should not just include the $100 back, but also compensation for his loss of reputation, his hourly rate even though he’s unemployed, the extra electricity he used sitting in his house waiting for me all day, and $500 on top of it all for his ‘pain and suffering’ and to punish me for not showing up?”

Didn’t he hear how ridiculous that sounded?

“Yeah, exactly,” he agreed easily, totally unbothered by her agitation, “I didn’t get what I wanted so now you got to make it right.”

 _Ridiculous_.

The worst part was more often than not, the professor would praise him for his “novel take” or remark that they “wouldn’t be surprised to see Mr. Bonilla rewriting the law someday.”

It. was. _maddening_.

\-----

In late February, Professor Rose announced the details about the Legal Writing final. 

The class would be given the fact pattern and trial transcript for a fictional case that was being appealed to the Michigan Supreme Court. Half the class would be assigned the side of the appellant, the party who lost at trial and wanted to appeal the verdict. The other half would be assigned the appellee side – the party who won at trial and wanted the appeals court to uphold the verdict.

Half of the grade would be a 25-page paper, in the form of a legal brief outlining their assigned side’s arguments to try to convince the appeals court to either uphold or overturn the trial court’s rulings below. And the other half of the grade would be based on how well they did in the First Year Moot Court Competition. 

In the competition, the student assigned the appellant side would argue first, followed by the student with the appellee side. Then the appellant would have one minute of rebuttal. The arguments would be made in front of a panel of three “judges,” sometimes a real live actual judge, but more likely, experienced lawyers from the local legal community, usually alums willing to give up a Saturday to mentor the next generation. 

The judges would score each round and determine which of the two students had argued better. Only the winners from the first round would advance to the next round, where they would again be paired up to face each other. The competition would continue with successive rounds using a single-elimination format until one overall winner was named. 

On the surface level, the competition half seemed like the easier of the two parts. All they had to do was prepare a ten-minute speech to support their position, then stand at a podium and give it, answering any of the panel of judge’s questions as they went. 

But Beth knew that it was going to be much more difficult than it seemed. First, because it would require so much preparation. There was no way to know whether you would get a “hot” panel, who would pepper you with questions, or a “cold” one, who just sat and stared at you while you spoke. So you had to prepare and time multiple versions of your argument, then employ them on the spot to either stretch out or speed up to fill the rigid ten-minute time limit. And the questions could be anything under the sun, from questions about the voluminous trial transcript with its hundreds of pages of exhibits to questions about how the Michigan Supreme Court had ruled in other similar cases. 

It wasn’t just the prep time it was going to take, coming at a time when she was so stretched thin at home. There was just so much riding on her performance in the competition.

The competition half of their grade was only based on how you did in the first round. For students who were deathly afraid of public speaking or had no interest in ever appearing in a courtroom one day, all they had to do was get through the ten minutes. 

But for everybody else? Advancing through the competition meant extra class credit. Anyone who won even one round would be able to put that on their resume and would be eligible for selection to the Moot Court Board, the elite student-run organization that only accepted the top writers and best oral advocates as members. And the ultimate prize was that everyone who made the top 16 would get an automatic invitation to join the Board. 

All Beth’s research had shown that most law firms and judges offering clerkships after law school would look first to see whether the candidate had been on the Moot Court Board in law school. It had been one of her goals since she first started researching law schools to be on the Board herself. 

Professor Rose began reading out who would face each other in the first round for each side – appellant versus appellee. In slow-moving horror, Beth realized that she was just forming the pairings by going down the alphabet, 1-2, 1-2, 1-2.

 _Please_ , Beth prayed, _please_. Let her be paired with David Bissett, who was right _before_ her in the alphabet, and not…

“Appellant Troy Benton versus Appellee David Bissett.”

Oh _no._ That meant… 

“Appellant Elizabeth Boland versus Appellee Christopher Bonilla.”

 _Damn it_. 

She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to look at his smug, handsome face. 

She looked anyway. 

He was looking straight back at her, of course, brown eyes twinkling. 

“Neat,” he said.

\-----

He liked to mess with her, she knew that. 

(“It’s. _Beth._ ” “I. _know._ ”) 

_Just ignore him_ , the voice whispered in her head. 

She tried. 

But he was just so deliberately provocative. 

One morning in Torts, she noticed that the knuckles on his right hand were skinned and red, as if he had been in a fight. 

“Drug deal gone bad,” he said very seriously, when he saw her looking, then huffed out a laugh when she rolled her eyes. It made his brown eyes crinkle at the corners.

God, she just wanted to beat him at the competition so bad. 

\-----

For the next few weeks, she practiced everywhere and every way she could. She practiced in the shower; she practiced in the waiting room at Annie’s doctor’s appointments; she practiced in the kitchen every night as she did the dishes. She wrote up every question she could think of and tried to interrupt herself with them so she could practice pivoting from one part of the argument to the next. 

She told herself that it would be fine, that she had always been good at thinking on her feet. Growing up, sometimes well-meaning adults would realize something was not quite right about the Marks girls. 

_Where are your parents? Is everything okay at home? Did you forget your lunch again?_

She had always had her answers set and ready. 

But she had a sneaking worry that that particular little superpower of hers only worked with lying. Maybe it wouldn’t transfer to this particular situation, where the last thing you should be doing is lying to judges and senior lawyers who knew the case law better than she could possibly hope to a semester and a half into law school. 

She was so afraid that she would choke. She still remembered vividly when she was in high school and had gone for an interview for a spot at the University of Michigan. She had prepared all night to answer questions about the classes she had taken, the clubs she was in, her admissions test scores. And then the first question the kindly old alum had asked her had been “Tell me about yourself, Beth, what do you do for fun?” Her mind had gone completely blank. What _did_ she do for fun? She had finally blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “I have a sister.” She still cringed remembering the puzzled look on the man's face. 

She just wasn’t sure if she was doing enough. Or even if she was doing it the right way. They had practiced some in their Legal Writing class and in her study group but it was like the blind leading the blind, none of them having ever competed in a competition before.

And _he_ was practicing with Gretchen. Beth had walked past one of the mock trial rooms one day and seen Rio and Gretchen together, him at the podium, her sitting at the judge’s bench, obviously asking him questions. Gretchen was on the Moot Court Board and good at it to boot. Beth had read about enough of her competition wins in _The Student Advocate_ to know that. Once again, everything just came so easy for him. 

What if he beat her? What if she couldn’t even make it past the first round? 

She worried more and more. 

\-----

By mid-March, the competition wasn’t the only thing stressing her out. 

Her sister was two weeks past her due date. 

She sat with Annie waiting for the doctor at the OB/GYN office, fussing over her sister’s nails, which were bitten and chewed off. It was the least of any of their problems, but it seemed like the only one she could fix. 

When the doctor finally examined Annie and told them that she would be scheduling Annie to be induced on the following Monday, Beth felt an intense sense of relief. Mostly because Annie’s discomfort would finally be over and they could meet the baby at last, but also because it meant she’d still be able to take part in the competition on Saturday. 

For a long time, she had worried that if Annie delivered on schedule, her preparation and studying leading up to the competition would be derailed with a crying baby in their apartment. Then, as the days slipped past Annie’s due date, Beth had worried that the baby might come right before the competition and she’d be too worried about Annie in the hospital to concentrate on her argument. 

But now it seemed like she could give her full attention to both. The competition on Saturday, then she’d take Monday off (only her first day off all semester so she could definitely swing it) to be with Annie during labor. 

\----- 

The morning of the competition, Beth woke up at four a.m. She slipped out of bed carefully so as not to wake Dean. She showered and got dressed in the black suit she had bought the day she had been accepted to law school to use for interviews and important events. It had a tapered skirt with small pleats at the hem, and the lapels of the jacket were wide and scalloped. It fit her like a dream. She loved it.

She tiptoed carefully to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, then set out all her notes and case printouts so she could review for a few hours before the competition started. She started first with reviewing the chart she had made that cross-referenced all the trial evidence with where each piece of evidence was cited in her argument.

“Beth?” Her sister’s voice sounded thin and terrified. 

Beth’s head snapped up from where she was engrossed in her notes.

She turned to see Annie standing in the kitchen doorway, clutching her stomach. She looked so young.

“I think my water broke.”

\-----

Thirty-three hours later, she sat by her sister’s hospital bed, watching her cradle her baby. It had been a hard labor, but she could hardly tell with how happy and radiant Annie looked. Looking at her made Beth’s chest feel so tight it was hard to breathe. 

Gregg had gone off to raid the vending machines. He had been more of a help than Beth had thought would be possible for an eighteen-year-old boy completely freaked out about becoming a father. The original plan had been that he would be the one in the delivery room. But from the moment they had gotten to the hospital, Annie had been hysterical at the prospect of letting Beth out of her sight. So Beth had stayed and together she and Gregg had helped Annie through her labor. 

When it was just the two of them again – well, three of them now with little Sadie – Annie broke out of her happy fog a little. She took in Beth sitting next to her, still in her tapered black skirt with the little pleats, the jacket folded over the back of the chair.

“Wait, what about your school thing?” Annie asked, her voice starting to wobble a little. 

She couldn’t let anything take away from Annie’s happiness. Not today. 

So Beth lied, smoothly. 

She told Annie that she had called her professor and gotten an excused absence and a make-up day for the argument. She told Annie that eight other students had also missed it, having caught the bad flu that was going around. The best lies always had just enough detail to make them believable.

Annie beamed back at her, believing her easily. The way she always had. 

Beth spent the day at the hospital, watching her sister bond with her baby and running interference between her and Gregg’s loving, but admittedly somewhat overbearing family. 

She finally made it home late Sunday night. She was a little surprised to find that Dean wasn’t home yet, but was too exhausted to try to track him down. Instead, she poured herself a drink and logged on to his desktop to see if the results from the competition yesterday had been posted on the school’s website.

They had. 

The results from all the rounds were listed. 

She only looked for one name.

_First Year Moot Court Competition Overall Winner – Christopher Bonilla_

She wasn’t even surprised. 

\-----

The first thing Monday morning, Beth went to Professor Rose’s office to try and see what she could salvage from missing the competition. She was more than two hours early for office hours. But she hoped that if the professor came early and saw Beth waiting, she’d realize how seriously Beth took the whole situation.

Instead, Professor Rose showed up at 10 a.m. on the dot. She looked effortlessly put-together in her tailored light-gray suit and black patent heels, her long gray hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. 

By contrast, Beth knew she looked tired and frumpy with her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and wearing the first clothes she could throw on that morning before she headed straight back to the hospital to bring Annie some things she needed.

Professor Rose listened patiently to Beth’s explanation. She even nodded her head encouragingly while Beth laid out all the alternate options she had brainstormed that could make up for missing the competition (Extending her brief an extra fifteen pages? Attending actual arguments at the Michigan Supreme Court and writing up her impressions? A research project on the history of oral advocacy in American jurisprudence?). 

But the news was bad.

Professor Rose would allow Beth to give her argument on a make-up day, with a handful of other 1L students who had also missed the competition for various reasons or had had a conflict with the date. But an “adult” sister giving birth didn’t qualify as an excused absence, like it would have if Beth had been sick or even if Beth’s child had been sick. Annie wasn’t her child, and she wasn’t even technically a child herself. She had turned eighteen earlier in the month and Beth wasn’t even her guardian anymore. 

Beth had thought ( _hoped_ ) that Professor Rose being a woman too would have meant she would understand how and why she couldn’t have left Annie. 

Instead, Professor Rose took the opportunity to give her some advice, “woman-to-woman,” advising Beth that choosing this profession would mean that making some “difficult choices” in the future, that she wouldn’t always be able to “balance” family and the law. 

It was all said kindly. Professor Rose obviously thought that she was helping. 

But Beth just listened numbly. Because none of what Rose said mattered. Any choices that Beth needed to make in life had already been made and set in stone a long time ago. 

She had always chosen Annie. She would always choose Annie. Nothing any professor could say would change that. 

And no matter how nicely Professor Rose was trying to sweeten the verdict with “helpful” advice, at the end, the result was still the same. Beth would only get partial credit on her make-up argument, no matter how good it was. That meant she couldn’t get higher than a C for the class, which would probably knock her out of the top 10%. It meant she wouldn’t be considered as a candidate for the Moot Court Board. It meant the end to a lot of the things she had planned. 

She walked out of Professor Rose’s office in a daze. 

And then she just kept on walking. She had Torts in fifteen minutes, but when she reached the classroom door, she walked right on by and kept going down the hall. 

For the first time all year, she was going to skip class. She knew that everyone would be talking about the competition, how well they did, how exciting it had all been. 

She just couldn’t face it.

Beth reached the main door and pushed her way outside into the gray March morning. It was technically spring but the wind from the river felt like ice hitting her face. It brought tears to her eyes.

She paused midway down the stairs in exhaustion, trying to figure out where she could go. Should she go to Ruby, even though she would be working? Or back to the hospital to see Annie?

“Elizabeth! Wait up!” 

Oh God. Not him. Not now.

She turned to see Rio coming out the front door after her. Her heart sank. She didn’t want to have to congratulate him again. Even though he deserved it. It was all just too much.

She turned back around and started down the stairs again, but he was too fast. He jogged past her and stopped several steps down in front of her, not blocking her really, but she’d have to sidestep him to get away. 

“Where you going? We got class in a few minutes.” He sounded out-of-breath. His eyes searched her face like he was looking for something.

“I’m skipping.” 

“Skipping?” he asked, confused, like he had never heard of the concept. Which was rich, she thought, coming from him.

She didn’t think she even needed to dignify that with a response. She stepped to one side so she could move past him. He mirrored her, but it seemed almost unconscious, like he wasn’t trying to block her but was just trying to stay face-to-face. 

“Where were you this weekend?” he demanded. 

“Something came up.” She tried to avoid his eye contact. 

“ _Something came up_?” he repeated, incredulous, “What’s that even mean? What happened? Why weren’t you there?”

It made her so angry suddenly. To have to stand here and go through this little charade with him, while he pretended he gave a damn, when all she wanted to do was run away. 

“None of your fucking business,” she bit out, looking him straight in the eye. It gave her a vicious little thrill to see the shock on his face, to see him rock backwards slightly. Yeah, she could curse too. She could say whatever she wanted whenever she wanted too. How did he like it now?

The anger felt good. It woke her up. It made her feel warm. She took a step down towards him, bringing them eye-to-eye. 

“And why are you always following me around?” she threw at him. 

That wasn’t quite fair, she knew. It wasn't like he was responsible for the seating charts that had them together all the time. 

But it still felt really good to say. 

His face hardened at that. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just wanted to see why you chickened out.” He searched her face again, but this time, his eyes were cold.

 _Chickened out?_ She scoffed. He was such a damn child. Acting like all this ridiculousness actually meant something in life, instead of the real things that actually mattered.

“Why’s that?” she challenged, “afraid you’d never have made it past the first round if I had been there?” 

He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. He dropped his voice down low and made it syrupy sweet. 

“Aw, you can keep telling yourself that, baby, but I’d of won even if you was there.”

She felt like she was going to jump out of her skin, but she couldn’t back down.

“Don’t call me _baby_ ,” she hissed, “And you don’t _know_ that!” 

He laughed.

“What? You can’t really think you got what it takes? You think knowin’ when to use italics is what you need to win in a courtroom?”

He had leaned forward until they were almost nose-to-nose. It seemed like he was filling up everything. All she could see or smell or hear was him.

She screwed her eyes shut, took a deep breath. _Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him_. 

She opened her eyes and focused on a spot past his shoulder. 

“Guess we’ll never know,” she shrugged. She maneuvered past him down the stairs and started walking. 

She didn’t look back. 

\-----

She went to her classes the next day, of course. She knew she couldn’t afford to miss anything else.

But she used the same tricks she had used in high school, when things had gotten really bad at home and she wanted to avoid questions and conversations. She timed her arrivals so she got there just as class started and packed up enough in the last five minutes that she could leave right when class would end. She kept her headphones in anytime else so she wouldn’t get pulled into any conversations. 

And she kept her attention in class focused just on her notebook in front of her, scrupulously avoiding looking at Rio. It seemed like he was doing the same. 

It felt quiet, even a little boring. But maybe that’s what she needed to figure out what she needed to do next. The competition was over and done with, no use crying over spilt milk. She'd just have to come up with a different plan.

You get what you get and you don't get upset. 

\-----

Finals were still a week away when Ruby finally convinced her to take a night off from studying. Annie and the baby were spending the night at Gregg’s house at Gregg’s mom insistence so she could “finally get some one-on-one time with her first grandchild.” 

They should get dolled up, Ruby said, head out to a bar for a girl’s night. Or a few hours of a girl night at least, and then Stan and Dean could come meet them out. 

Beth hadn’t put up much of a fight, beyond a couple weak protests about how much studying she had to do and or the mountains of laundry she had at home. Between her class load and her focus on Annie this semester, she had spent less time with Ruby than she ever had before. It left her feeling disconnected, almost adrift without Ruby to anchor her. 

Beth smiled at her reflection as she washed her hands in the bar bathroom. This had been a great idea. She felt looser and more relaxed than she had in months. Which could be laid at the feet of the four bourbons she had had so far, true, but really for the time with Ruby, laughing and talking about everything and nothing.

As she made her way back to their table, she noticed that Ruby wasn’t alone anymore. A man had joined her, leaning casually against the table on both elbows, his back to Beth. 

Whatever he was saying had Ruby putting her head back and laughing. Beth grinned, happy to see Ruby having fun, even more happy to think about teasing Stan when he got there about Ruby getting picked up. 

As Beth got closer, Ruby caught her eye and brightened even more. 

“B! Look who’s here!”

She saw. 

Somehow, it was Rio. Somehow standing there at their table, watching her walk up to them, his eyes flicking down her body and then back up to meet hers. 

He shifted as she joined them, opening up space by turning his body towards her so only one elbow rested on the table. Like he was inviting her to join her own table with her own best friend on her own girl’s night out. 

“Your friend was just telling me about your moment of triumph in class the other day,” Ruby continued, smiling her smile that said she was proud of Beth.

What was he even _doing_ here? And “friend?” He wouldn’t have introduced himself like that to Ruby, would he?

They were both looking at her expectantly, like they were waiting for her to chime in on the story. She had no idea what they were talking about. 

“When you smacked down the annoying kid who tried to contradict you?” Ruby prompted, when Beth hesitated.

Oh, that. She looked at Rio, confused at how that would have even come up or why. It hadn’t been much of a moment. In Criminal Law the past week, she had been answering a question on how a defendant could rely on a mistake of fact as a viable defense at trial when Bernie Gallagher had interrupted her to say she was explaining a mistake of law instead. She hadn’t been (she was very clear on her charts between the differences between mistakes of fact and mistakes of law) and she hadn’t appreciated being interrupted either, so she had interrupted him right back. But it had been less than a 30-second exchange and she hadn’t even thought Rio was paying attention.

“It was nothing much, I just explained why he was wrong.”

“Nah, she’s just being modest,” he grinned over to Ruby, “she gave him hell.” 

Ruby laughed, delighted. Beth took another sip of her drink to hide the fact that she was at a loss as to what to say to that. He sounded sincere, which made no sense. 

But somehow she felt the ice between them crack just a little bit.

She eyed him over the rim of her glass. She was drunk enough to admit that he looked good. He was wearing jeans and a black henley that clung to the muscles in his shoulders. The sleeves were pushed up and she watched his forearms as he moved his tumbler back and forward in his hands.

For several moments, all three of them were silent. Ruby had had as many drinks as Beth, but she wasn’t too drunk not to pick up on the awkwardness if Beth didn’t say something soon.

She cleared her throat.

“Are you here with law school people?” She had chosen this bar specifically to avoid that. It was far enough away from the law school that Beth had thought she wouldn’t run into anyone from class. 

“Nah,” he said, “wanted a break from all that. Been coming here for years with friends from the neighborhood.” He gestured to a table in the corner where a group of guys sat, all dressed like him and young like him. 

“I didn’t realize you were old enough to drink.”

“Funny.” 

It hadn’t been, not really, but they both smiled a little, and she felt the tension ease just a little bit more.

“Next round’s on me,” he offered, eyeing their drinks, which were running low. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Beth said, just as Ruby enthusiastically thanked him and kicked her under the table.

“What’re you having?” he asked Ruby and nodded when she asked for another rum and coke. 

He turned to Beth, cocked his head at her lowball glass.

“Whisky?” he guessed. 

“Bourbon,” she clarified. 

He smiled.

“What?” she asked, a little defensively.

“Nothing. Just thought you were a white wine kind of lady.”

“For school functions only.” 

He smiled again, then headed to the bar to get their drinks.

God bless Ruby. She kept the conversation going at first when he got back. But by the time they needed another round, it had gotten a little easier. Then three of his friends joined their table, and it got easier still. The friends had normal names (that she had a hard time remembering at the moment), but she noticed that the names they called each other didn’t match the names they had been introduced with. 

Ruby had always been her biggest cheerleader, Beth thought, her heart clenching a little as she listened to her tell Rio how Beth had taught herself calligraphy as a form of stress relief while studying for the law school admissions test. Like she had needed to stress, Ruby teased, when she was a shoo-in with straight As. 

Maybe that’s why it had been so hard to make friends at school. Nothing came as easy as it did with Ruby. 

“160! 160!” Ruby chanted at her, her eyes playful and rum-bright, holding up her drink. Beth beamed back at her and clinked her glass to Ruby’s, remembering. 

Last year, when she had been studying for the test, she had told Ruby that if she could just score at least 160 on it, she thought she’d be accepted. "160" became something of a mantra for them. They had chanted it to each other, toasted to it. When she got discouraged, Ruby had repeated it to her again and again, made it sound like a magic spell. And then when Beth had opened up her results and had seen her score – 160 exactly – it had felt like fate, like she was destined to go to law school. Like it would all work out. 

She remembered Rio suddenly and looked over a little embarrassed to gauge his reaction. But he was still smiling as he watched them.

“What did you get?” she blurted out before she could help herself. 

This was something of a no-no among law students. If you found a way to work your LSAT score or your undergrad grades into conversation organically, that was okay. But you never asked anyone else directly what they got. It was just bad form. He knew it, she knew it. 

But she was drunk enough to blame it on the bourbon, and she kind of really wanted to know.

“168,” he answered, after a pause. He didn’t sound gloating, like he was glad to have beaten her. Just matter-of-fact. She knew he was telling the truth.

“Only a few points higher,” Ruby inserted loyally. 

It was more than that. Ruby didn’t get the significance, but she did. Beth had pored over the score breakdowns obsessively when she was preparing for the test. She knew what each point on the test corresponded to as far as the percentile rank. The “few” points between their scores meant the difference between her 80th percentile and his 95th.

“Yeah,” he nodded to Ruby, agreeing easily, “and I sure as hell didn’t come in with all As.”

Which, yeah. She did have all As, and that’s what had gotten her in, even if her test score hadn’t been the highest. She felt warm inside again suddenly, comforted and happy.

When Stan showed up a little while later (and what was the holdup with Dean, she wondered vaguely), it turned out he and one of the other guys were both diehard Tigers fans. They were soon deep in conversation about spring training and their predictions for the season. Ruby and Rio’s friend who she thought was named Doug but now it somehow sounded like it might be Dag (that couldn’t be right) were heatedly dissecting the spoilers for the upcoming season of _Survivor_.

And she was listening to Rio tell an animated story that Gretchen had told him about the time two years ago when Professor Kelly had gotten drunk at the Business Tort Symposium and fallen off the dais after giving his remarks. 

She leaned closer to hear him over the noise of the bar, watching his lips and smiling as he described the sound Professor Kelly had supposedly made, as enthusiastically as if he had actually been there to hear it. 

He broke off suddenly, focusing on something over her shoulder. 

She turned to see his friend (Miguel? Mike?) back from outside where he’d gone to take a phone call. The friend looked at her briefly, hesitating, before looking back to Rio. 

“Tenemos una problema,” he said calmly. 

She turned back to Rio, confused ( _problema_ meant problem, right? And why the switch to Spanish?), then watched in fascination as his face changed, the playful expression falling away to be replaced by a look that was still and impassive. It made him look older.

Rio straightened up and tilted his head to his friends, indicating the front door.

“Gotta go,” he nodded to Ruby and Stan, “nice to meet you, enjoy your night.”

They all started to move away, heading towards the exit. He started to follow, before turning back to her. 

“See you in class, Elizabeth.”

She watched him go, enjoying the feel of the good bourbon on her tongue. He had gotten top shelf every time it had been his turn to buy a round, which, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember her or Ruby actually getting a round since he had shown up. 

“He was cool,” Ruby offered, her hand in Stan’s on top of the table.

Beth sighed. 

Yeah.

\-----

She felt almost lightheaded as she handed in her last final. The second semester had been so much harder than the first, but it was finally over. Her first year of law school in the books. She had done it. 

Now she had the summer to rest.

Although it wasn’t like she’d be leaving the school too far away. She would be working in the law library every morning during the summer. It wasn’t as dynamic for her resume as a prestigious internship would have been, but it would still look good and it would give her a chance to work on her research skills. 

Besides, she probably couldn’t have accepted an internship anyway, given how most of them were full-time, and, more importantly, unpaid. She needed to make some money too so she’d also be working at Boland Motors every afternoon. She told herself that it was just what she needed. A familiar job that didn’t pay too bad and most importantly, a chance to reconnect with Dean.

The summer was going to be perfect, she thought, as she walked through the Commons towards the lobby doors. She could recharge and use her free time to pick out her fall classes and get a jump on the reading. She’d finally have enough time to spend with Ruby. And more time to help Annie with the baby and to study for her GED. 

“’Ey, Elizabeth.” 

She nearly jumped out of her skin to hear Rio’s voice behind her. She turned to see him sitting on top of one of the tables scattered around the Commons that study groups used when they met.

He had turned in his final at least twenty minutes before she did. What was he still doing here? Why wasn’t he at the bar with the rest of their Section celebrating the end of their first year? 

He hopped off the table and came over to her. 

She forced herself not to fidget. She hadn’t really seen him that much since the night at the bar. She had woken up the next morning, more hungover than she had been in a long time, with mostly intact memories of them actually maybe having a good time? She had almost looked forward to seeing him in class on Monday. 

But he hadn’t been there that Monday or the next day either. By the time he came back, looking exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, the moment had passed. He didn’t refer to the night at the bar, and she didn’t either. He hadn’t said much of anything, actually. Which, she told herself, was a good thing because the last thing she needed was him thinking they were buddies now. 

And then finals had started up and all her energy and time had been focused on studying. 

She realized with a start this was the first time they had said more than a few words to each other in days. 

“You headed to the bar?” he asked. 

It felt like déjà vu, back to the night they had met. But the answer was the same now as it had been then. She had too much to do and too much waiting for her at home.

“No,” she said, trying not to sound too clipped this time. “But have fun.”

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t move away, “so what’s your number?”

“My what?”

“Your phone number.”

Her phone number? She blinked at him. Why…was he asking that. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“So we can get together this summer,” he said, like it was obvious, “don’t we got a party to plan?”

Oh. That. 

She could feel her cheeks flushing. She hadn’t thought he would find out about that, at least not before school was out. 

At the last SBA meeting, Gretchen had reminded the rising 3Ls that it was their responsibility to plan and throw the welcome party for new students at the end of the summer. Beth had raised her hand immediately. She had been thinking about the upcoming party this summer since the previous party last summer. Beth had pointed out that it made more sense for the rising 2L class to be in charge of the party. After all, they had just completed their first years so they’d be in the best position to help the incoming class. And she had assured everyone that she wasn’t trying to make work for anyone else, because Beth herself would be happy to be in charge of planning it.

Gretchen’s focus had already shifted beyond school and past graduation to studying for the bar exam all summer, so she hadn’t cared. And the current 2Ls hadn’t cared either (what was wrong with them, Beth wondered). So Beth had been put in charge of the party, with a budget and a volunteer list of people she could call on to help. She couldn’t have been happier. 

She had been even happier that Rio had missed that meeting, and she had thought (prayed, hoped) that there was a good chance he wouldn’t find out about it until after the party, if ever. Likely he thought parties just sprang into being solely so he could attend them, without any idea of the planning and work that went into them. 

“You don’t have to worry about it,” she muttered, “I’m taking care of everything.”

“ _I’m_ the Class Representative, darlin’. It ain’t good form to cut your boss outta the loop, you know.”

“You aren’t my…”

He was smiling at her, brown eyes twinkling, waiting expectantly. 

_You know what?_ Beth thought, _Fine. Let’s play it your way_. 

She smiled back and shrugged her shoulders a little bashfully. Like she had tried to get one over on him, but now she knew she was caught. Like she knew there was no use fighting it. 

She told him the number and watched him type it into his phone.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He turned to head out, smirking back over his shoulder at her in triumph, “call you soon, yeah?” 

She nodded and smiled back. And she smiled as she watched him walk away, and she kept on smiling all the way out the front door down to the street where Dean was parked waiting for her. 

She had given him her number. Almost. She had flip-flopped the last two digits. 

It was a trick she and Ruby had come up with the summer that they worked together at the Dairy Queen after high school. If a guy asked for their number and wouldn’t take no for an answer, they would give it, but transpose two of the numbers. If the guy tried to call, he’d get a wrong number, and hopefully be too embarrassed to come back. But if he did come back, they had plausible deniability that he had just written the number down wrong.

She had just bought herself three months without him bothering her if he had even been serious about helping her plan the party (and he’d probably forget about it before the week was out). 

And if he did try to call her and found out that she gave him the wrong number, what could he even do about it? They didn’t have any friends in common who could give him her real number. And he didn’t know where she’d be working. So he wouldn’t be able to run into her.

It wasn’t like he was going to come looking for her.

She frowned a little then as that thought took root and shape, not even listening as Dean launched into some complaint about the new shipment of tires to the dealership.

He wouldn’t actually do something like come looking for her. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy - this got out of hand a little length-wise but I'm committed to the one semester/one chapter format so onward! Thank you again for all the nice feedback :D, it is a good antidote to all the worry that this is a little too niche and self-indulgent!!


	4. 1L - Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to plan and organize and host the New Student Welcome Party for the Detroit College School of Law Incoming Class of 2007 - what could go wrong?

Obviously he wasn’t gonna call Elizabeth the first week of summer break. Just because it was fun to mess around with her sometimes to see her get all worked up didn’t change the fact that he had real responsibilities and more important shit on his mind than whatever silly school thing she was currently freaking out over (this stupid “welcome party” thing being the latest example).

His uncle had made some bold moves over the spring. It meant significant expansion, into new avenues of business as far as the product they were moving, yeah, but also expansion into territory that hadn’t been theirs a few months ago. There had been a lot of moving parts, a lot of things had Rio needed to keep on top of, at night, during the day, in Detroit, across the border.

Sometimes Rio thought they were moving too fast, expanding too quickly, and coming at a time when he was supposed to be keeping his record squeaky clean and had to work more in the shadows than he wanted to. 

But overall strategy was his uncle’s decision, not his, so it wasn’t really his place to say. Whatever his opinion, the moves they were making had meant a lot of shit to deal with over the past few months. 

It had been a relief to have that last final exam be done and know he wouldn’t be stepping foot in the law school for at least three months. 

So he didn’t call Elizabeth the first week. He did swing by that bar a few times, the one where he had hung out with her and her friend, but he probably would have gone there anyway. (Probably at least once or twice anyway.) 

It still stuck with him a little. What she had flung at him on the stairs. Not that bit about following her around, ‘cause that was bullshit. It wasn’t like he made up the seating charts or anything. If he had, he wouldn’t have been in the front row, _obviously_ , so she was just way off base there.

No, it had been the part about it being none of his business – none of his _fucking_ business – where she had been. 

At the beginning of the semester, he had groaned internally when Professor Rose had first started talking about the moot court thing. Gretchen was on the Moot Court Board and she had bored the shit out of him and half the family for years talking about competitions. 

All the competition had looked like to him on paper was a whole lotta work and for what reward at the end? So you could go around boring other people telling ‘em you were part of a made-up group with a ridiculous name like “Moot Court Board?” He couldn’t think of a single person in his life who would give a shit, excepting his mother of course, who cared about all his school stuff even if she didn’t quite understand it, and Gretchen and her father – and those two had been brainwashed somewhere along the way by law school into thinking this shit actually meant something. 

But then Professor Rose had announced him and Elizabeth would be facing each other and suddenly everything shifted. He had promised himself after their first semester he’d take every opportunity to remind Elizabeth which one of them was better, and here was just one more opportunity.

He had known he would beat her head-to-head in their round. Yeah, he had seen all Elizabeth’s little flash cards and her stacks of cases and the four-inch evidence binder she had made with all the little colored flags. 

But according to Gretchen, the “judges” they’d be arguing in front of were mostly just recent grads working their asses off as first- and second-year associates in big law firms. None of them had the time to comb through hundreds of pages of the “evidence” to look for gotcha questions or read up on page after page of case law. The judges had all been given a “judge’s brief” with high-level facts and some sample questions, and you could pretty much bet, none of them was doing any supplemental research or reading beyond that.

So if you knew the holdings of the main cases cited in the judge’s brief and you could anticipate some fairly obvious questions about any weaknesses of your own position, most of the scoring was just gonna come down to style points and who argued better. He had no worries there. (He had laughed out loud when Gretchen had opened her advice by telling him he needed to “speak confidently” and “show no fear” during his argument.) 

If Elizabeth had just asked him, maybe he would have told her all that too. He still would have beaten her anyway. (Probably would have. Ninety percent chance, definitely.) 

But she didn’t ask him so he didn’t tell her. And even though he thought it would have been more fun to face her in a later round – so she could win enough rounds first to get one of those automatic invitations to the Moot Court Board that he figured she was probably obsessed with and _then_ he could have beaten her – he had still looked forward to facing her in the competition. 

And then she didn’t show. She just wasn’t there. No explanation, no reason, nothing.

He had sat there, in the quiet classroom with the two “judges” (who both looked not only hungover but barely older than him) in disbelief. First, that he had actually gotten to some school thing before her, and then, when the start time approached and then passed, that she actually wasn’t there.

The judges had finally just told him to go ahead with his argument alone. He had given his dumb little ten-minute speech on auto-pilot and hadn’t even gotten a single question. 

The second he was done, he was headed out to the lobby to find Professor Rose. 

“With Ms. Boland absent, you’ll advance to the next round automatically, Mr. Bonilla,” she had assured him, like that’s what he cared about. 

She hadn’t seemed worried at all that Elizabeth would never have missed this shit unless she was sick or hurt. Had told him that he'd find once he was out in the "real world" that sometimes opposing counsel just didn't show for whatever reason. Had shut him down cold when he said that someone should pull up Elizabeth’s phone number from her student file and give her a call to see if she was okay. Had finally told him to "just take the win" and focus on the rest of the competition. (He hadn’t even had to _focus_ on the rest of it to go on to _win_ the whole thing anyway what with 90% of the class as spiraled-out and overprepared as he knew Elizabeth would have been, and he _still_ thought Professor Rose had been a straight bitch about the whole thing to boot.)

Monday morning after the competition, he had gotten to class earlier than he ever had. Elizabeth still hadn’t been there though. 

Then, right before class had started, he had actually seen her walk by the classroom door. When he had finally ran her down, he had been taken aback when he saw her face. She had looked like she was crying, looked all tired and hollowed out, like she had been in a car accident or something.

But then she hadn’t given him a single answer about where she had been or what was wrong and had tried to make it all about who would have done better in the damn competition he didn’t even give a fuck about.

He hadn’t even cared that much when she gave him the silent treatment the next couple weeks in class, because he had been doing the same damn thing to her. 

Then a couple weeks later, he had been out with his boys and looked up and there she was. 

She had been sitting with a woman he didn’t recognize. The two of them had looked like they were in their own world, talking and laughing and leaning in to each other all goofy animation and easy openness. 

It had been hard not to watch them. Elizabeth had just looked so different than she usually did. 

At one point, Elizabeth had stood up to go to the bathroom and stumbled back tipsy on her little boots. Instead of looking embarrassed or tense, like she did the couple times she had ever gotten something wrong in class, she had turned her stumble into a little dance, shaking her hips and giggling back over her shoulder to her friend as she walked away. 

On autopilot, he had found himself getting up and heading over to their table. 

Her friend had just stared at him when he first came up, her unimpressed expression reminding him so strongly of Elizabeth that for a second, she had looked more like her than Elizabeth’s actual sister. But the moment he had said he was Elizabeth’s friend from school, she was smiling, asking him what _Beth_ was like in class, saying how she never really talked much about it. 

When Elizabeth had gotten back, he had almost left. All her little smiles and loose happiness had faded as soon as she had seen him, and she had turned all stiff again. It felt, _wrong_ somehow, that she had lost that just ‘cause he was there.

But her friend Ruby had teased it back out of her slowly. And after awhile, she was smiling again. By the end of the night, before he’d had to leave, he had almost been to the point of asking Elizabeth what happened to make her miss the competition. 

He knew it had to have been something bad though, and he just hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood. 

\-----

He didn’t call Elizabeth the second week of break either. Trouble had flared up involving one of his uncle’s senior guys who had decided to branch out on his own behind their backs, and it was several nights’ work putting all that to bed. 

Plus, he had started his internship. 

Because of the whole winning the competition thing and his Crim Law grade, he had been offered internships with both the local prosecutor’s office and public defender’s office. 

Gretchen had told him to take the internship with the prosecutor, like she had done. Even though she had planned all along to practice criminal defense with her father after graduation, she told him that working on the prosecution side had shown her how the police and the prosecutors worked together to build a case. She planned to use all that now she was on the defense side. 

But he took the internship with the public defender instead. As _ironic_ and straight-up fucking _hilarious_ as it would have been to work with a bunch of cops every day, there was no way in hell he could have kept a straight face all summer. 

\----

Three weeks after the last final, things had finally calmed down business-wise and he had finished his first week of his internship without any problems.

He still hadn’t run into Elizabeth at the bar, even though he’d been back a couple times more. He knew if he waited much longer to just run into her, she would probably have planned the whole party out without him, even though the damn thing was still two months away and he was the one in charge, not her. 

Besides, he knew he better get started now because he suspected that he was gonna have to call her multiple times before she would pick up the phone, as though that little trick would work.

But that was wrong because the first time he called her number, somebody answered on the first ring. 

“Hello?” the voice quavered. It was a dude’s voice – the husband? Why the hell did she give him her home number instead of her cell? He didn’t want to have to go through this every time he wanted to talk to her. 

“Yeah, Elizabeth there?” 

“What?”

It sounded like the guy was ninety years old, what the fuck. 

“Elizabeth. Is she there?” 

“Who?”

“Elizabeth!” (Dammit, he wasn’t gonna say _Beth_!)

“Elizabeth who?” 

_Elizabeth who_?? He felt like his head was gonna blow off. 

“Elizabeth Boland! Is she there or not!” 

“You must have the wrong number, sonny.” 

Click. 

He pulled his phone back from his ear and stared at it. 

Had he typed the number in wrong when she had told him it? 

No, because she had been standing right there looking down at his phone while he did it. She would have said something if he had typed it wrong.

Right?

Unless… _she_ had told him it wrong? 

No, right? That couldn’t be it. 

He kept on staring at his “Elizabeth” contact on the phone screen, remembering her face in the Commons. The way she had ducked her head so her red-gold hair fell around her shoulders. The way she had blinked those big eyes up at him through her lashes. The way she had smiled so ruefully at him, like she was really really sorry for having hesitated to give him the number.

She had given him a fake number?

His hand tightened on the phone.

 _She_ had given _him_ a fake number! A fake number! Like he was some sketchy perv in a bar!

Even pissed as hell though, he almost felt a little sorry for her. At how naïve she was and how wild it was that she didn’t think any of this through to its natural consequences. 

Like, did she actually expect that he was just gonna call the fake number and not get ahold of her and that’d be the end of it? That she’d just see him next when fall semester started and he’d be all, “Ey, Elizabeth, good one on the fake number and how did the party turn out?”

Nah, that’s not how any of this worked. 

\-----

He knew Gretchen would have her number from all the SBA shit. 

He hadn’t seen Gretchen that much lately. Since graduation, she spent every day at school – bar exam preparation class in the morning, then studying all afternoon in the law library – and every night with her study group, so it took him a couple days to catch up with her.

That Sunday she came to family dinner at his mother’s though so he cornered her in the living room and told her he needed Elizabeth’s phone number (cell, preferably, but home would do as a last resort if that’s all she had). 

“Why? So you can stalk her some more?”

 _Stalk_ her? 

Some _more_? 

What the fuck. Studying for the bar exam ten hours a day was making Gretchen even more bitchy than usual. 

“Aw, Gretch, come on now,” he said, as sweetly as he could, “I know you have it, so give it up.”

“No. She only gave me the number if I needed to reach her for SBA business.”

“This is _about_ SBA business!” 

“Oh please,” she snorted, “you don’t give a shit about being the 1L Class Representative.”

 _Of course_ he didn’t give a shit about being the 1L Class Representative. Had only signed up to run twenty minutes before the filing deadline just because he had thought it would be funny when Elizabeth found out. (It had been. It had been so funny.)

He was still straight up offended though by Gretchen acting like he hadn’t won the stupid election, and Elizabeth was the damn 1L Class Representative instead of him. 

She rolled her eyes at his expression.

“Oh, so _now_ you care about the SBA? Every time I told you to do something last semester, you told me, ‘yo, Gretch, I’ll have Elizabeth get back to you on that one,’” she accused.

(He had said that, yes. That had been funny too.)

“Gretchen, for real, _I told_ _you fifty times_ stop tryin’ to do my voice – now quit playin’ and give me the number!”

“No. I don’t think it’s ethical for me to do that.”

He laughed out loud. 

The past spring, Gretchen had wanted to get trial experience by using her Third Year Practice Certificate, which allowed 3Ls to get in the courtroom under the supervision of a licensed attorney. She had worked with her father to defend one of his crew on charges of witness intimidation for calling a state’s witness and threatening to break his fingers if he testified. (Carlos told him he had said hands, not fingers, but otherwise the facts in the indictment were accurate). Rio had personally been in the courtroom when Gretchen had given her closing argument and argued that simply making a phone call could never rise to the level of legal intimidation. 

And now she was gonna be a hypocrite and lecture him on ethics for asking for a damn phone number that he should already have anyway if Elizabeth hadn’t _lied_ to him? 

He told her as much. 

“These are two completely different situations and you know it,” Gretchen snapped.

“What’s different about it? It’s just a fuckin’ phone call!” 

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” she sighed, “I’m not giving you her number. But I’ll give you a piece of advice.”

“What’s that,” he snapped back, beyond irritated. 

“Maybe you should think about spending a little time in the law library this summer.”

\-----

He swung by the law library the next morning on his way to his internship. It was mostly deserted like he expected for the beginning of June, but he saw Ms. Biggs, the law librarian, sitting at the front desk so he headed her way. 

He liked Ms. Biggs. She was in her early sixties, with gray hair piled up in big bun on the top of her head and little pointy glasses that she wore on a chain around her neck. She called him Christopher and insisted he call her Mary and always giggled when he talked. 

“Christopher!” she beamed when she saw him, “We haven’t seen you around in awhile, how has your summer been so far?”

“So good, Mary,” he smiled back, ducking his head to her, “missed seein’ you though.”

He propped himself up on both elbows on the counter in front of her, so he could lean closer over her and dangle his hands down close to where hers rested on her keyboard. 

She beamed some more. 

“Hey, Mary, you haven’t heard from Elizabeth Boland lately, have you?”

“You mean this morning?” she blinked up at him, her eyes huge through the thick lens of her glasses.

Well, okay, sure, that definitely worked. If Ms. Biggs had heard from Elizabeth this morning, he was already on the right track. 

“Yeah – see, Mary, she owes me something, and it’s real important I get it. Official SBA business, you know?” 

Ms. Biggs watched his mouth as he lowered his voice conspiratorially at the end, like they were sharing a secret. She nodded seriously back at him. 

“She’s working on the second floor to re-shelve all the books turned in last week.” 

_Elizabeth was working here_? Dammit, he was gonna kill Gretchen, she must have known that for days and didn’t think to tell him? 

He went straight up to the second floor and started walking up and down the aisles looking for her. 

It was quiet as the grave so he ended up hearing her before seeing her. First, the noise of her little book cart starting and stopping as she pushed it down the aisle, then the sounds of her putting the books away in the stacks. She was humming a little tune as she worked. 

He positioned himself quietly in the next aisle over from where she was, leaning up against the stack on one shoulder, so that when she turned the corner, she’d get the surprise of her life to see him. 

Slowly, the sounds of the cart, little wheels squeaking, grew louder, until it lurched into view around the corner. He found himself holding his breath.

And then there came Elizabeth, partially hidden behind the cart at first, head down and totally unaware of her surroundings as per usual.

She stopped the cart and walked out from behind it with a book in her hand, scanning the stacks for its place. She must have caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye though because suddenly she was throwing up her hands and screaming, the book thumping to the ground. 

He barely registered it. 

The cart wasn’t blocking her anymore and he could finally see her in full. His mouth dropped open a little. 

Jesus Christ. 

She was wearing a dark red dress that came down to her knees and elbows and should have looked old-fashioned as shit. But it hugged her body like a song and had a wide belt that turned her into an actual hourglass. She had on shiny black high heels that made her legs look miles long. Her blonde hair was piled up on top of her head. 

She looked like that movie star in the old French movies his mom was always watching when he was a kid. 

Why was she dressed like that??

“Why are you dressed like that??” she squeaked, her hand resting splayed out on her chest, which was still heaving in fright, like he had screamed Boo or some shit.

Wait, what? 

He pulled his eyes away from her chest to look down at himself. He was just wearing his charcoal Boss suit with a white button up and his skinny black tie, same general thing he wore every day to his internship.

“I got my internship later,” he said, still confused at the question. _She_ was the one dressed funny, not him!

She knelt down to pick up the book and he stared. How did she crouch like that on those heels without falling over? 

“I thought you were going to call,” she said, straightening up and starting to get back some of her usual attitude, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought it would be easier to talk in person, you know?” 

He refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing he had tried the fake number.

“How did you know I was going to be here?” She ran her eyes over his clothes again, like she couldn’t understand the concept of a suit. 

“Where else would you be?” he asked just to fuck with her, making a confused face like it had been obvious he’d find her in the library. 

She kept looking at his suit. It was getting insulting. He was the one dressed normally for a law job, why was _she_ wearing _that_? Hadn’t she ever seen a dude in a suit before? 

Or did she think that someone like him shouldn’t be wearing one?

“So ‘ey, how you wanna do this?”

“Do what?”

Do what. He rolled his eyes. 

“Figure out this party shit.”

She stopped playing dumb instantly.

“When you say ‘this party… _shit_ ,’” she stumbled on the word, which lessened the whole scornful vibe she was going for, “do you mean planning and organizing and hosting almost 300 guests at the _New Student Welcome Party for the Detroit College School of Law Incoming Class of 2007_?”

He had to give it to her, she finished strong though, sounding icy and superior like she had just put him in his place. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“I _told_ you that I can handle it _myself_!”

“And I told _you_ that ain’t happening, so baby, get with the program because you ain’t doing anything without me.”

\-----

They finally agreed to meet every Monday and Thursday morning (“if necessary,” she had sniffed and he had laughed) at the library to go over the party shit. The attorney he was working with at his internship visited clients in lockup on those mornings so he could get to work a little later.

That Thursday, he showed up, had some chit-chat with Ms. Biggs, and then went off into the bowels of the library to find Elizabeth. 

He found her sitting alone at a table, notebook open in front of her, ready for battle. She was wearing a tight emerald green sweater over a snowy white blouse with a lacy collar that peeked out high at the neck and at her wrists. He saw a flash of the shiny black heels under the table. ( _Why_ was she dressing like this just to fuck around in the library putting books away?) 

She wanted to start with her list of “what could be improved” from last year’s party, most of which he couldn’t have given a shit about. (Did she really think he was gonna insist they put a woman out alone in a dark alley to give directions when any moron coming in that way could figure out where the party was?)

But she seemed to want to ignore that he had _also_ been at the same damn party as she had last year so it wasn’t like she had some specialized knowledge as to how shit should work. And he figured he’d talked to about three times more people _than she had_ last year and not just the faculty _like she had_ so he had a better idea of what would make it fun for the students anyway.

She was determined not to acknowledge that they had actually met for the first time at this party. She ignored any reference to them having interacted at all. 

Which, of course, made him want to do it more. 

“Should we try to get that same bartender as last time?”

She didn’t look up from her notebook but he watched her hand tighten slightly around her pen.

“You remember, right?” he prompted.

She drew careful lines to separate the notebook page into columns. 

“He really looked like what you’d expect a bartender’d look like, yeah?”

She started labeling each column with her perfect handwriting.

“’Member? The tall dude?”

Come _on_ , was she really not going to break?

“We all practiced our Spanish together?”

Nothing.

“ _Mexican_?”

She shook her head a little sadly at her notebook. Finally, she looked up, but only to give him a reproachful look. 

“I’m sorry, but I just think it’s really inappropriate to racially profile our support staff.”

He stared at her, without words for a second. Well, damn, okay. Round one to her.

\-----

The next Thursday, when he got to the library, he found her wearing a dark blue dress with wide red stripes that seemed to trace down the curves of her body. She had a red silky scarf tied around her neck and her hair was piled up again on her head. ( _Brigitte Bardot_ , his mother had said, when he had called her and asked who that actress was in the old movies she always used to watch.)

He couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“You goin’ out tonight?” he asked. 

“What?”

“You got plans later?” 

“Um, why do you ask?”

He gestured up and down at her clothes.

“Just pretty dolled up for the library is all.”

She flushed a little and looked away.

“No, I just…have my other job later.”

“Oh yeah, where’s that?” He had wondered why she was working at the library and not at some fancy internship. With her grades, she must have had a dozen offers.

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders.

“A car dealership.” 

A car dealership? He remembered Courtney mentioning that from before, yeah, but Elizabeth was still working there? She must have been making bank there to pick that over getting experience with some law job.

“And you all got some kinda fancy dress code there?”

She scowled at that.

“The owner likes to project a certain image, yes. Now, can we please get back to business?”

Well, jeez, his bad for trying to make small talk, damn. 

\-----

One Monday, he got to the library and Ms. Biggs said Elizabeth had gone to deliver a book to the Assistant Dean’s office. She said _of course_ he could sit at the front desk to wait for her, _Christopher_. 

He swiveled around in the chair, looking at all Elizabeth’s shit behind the desk. Seriously, how could she still carry around this many notebooks and shit when it was the summer and they weren’t even in class. 

On top of a couple notebooks was a fat binder with a neat little handwritten label that said “Second Year Class Information.”

Bored, he flipped it open. 

He already knew there would only be two required core classes for their Section in the fall: Constitutional Law and Civil Procedure. For the first time, their Section would be splitting up as everyone chose different elective classes to fill out their schedules. He hadn’t thought about what electives to pick yet (why would he, it was barely June). 

Elizabeth obviously had. 

She hadn’t just printed out the course catalog. It looked like she had downloaded past syllabuses for every class offered. She had tabs that said shit like “Professor Reviews” and “Textbooks/Reading List Price Comparison.” She had little mock schedules made up showing different configurations of classes. 

Holy shit.

He found a little chart in the front pocket. It had a Post-It note with “Current Top Five” written on it stuck to the front. ( _Current_ Top Five? He shook his head at how dorky that was.) 

**CLASSES AND THOUGHTS**  
  
---  
  
**Business Associations (partnerships, LLCs, corporations)**

**Pros**

-Always on Bar Exam

-High grade here = high-paying internship next year?

**Cons**

-N/A  
  
**Criminal Procedure**

**Pros**

-Can re-use parts of Criminal Law outline

-Already have supplemental texts read

**Cons**

-N/A  
  
**Family Law**

**Pros**

-Already know guardianship law/issues

-Possibly useful re: Annie/Sadie & Gregg’s parents?

**Cons**

-N/A  
  
**Feminist Legal Theory Seminar**

**Pros**

-Subject matter so interesting

-Supplemental texts look amazing

**Cons**

-Not on Bar Exam

-No long-term financial benefit

-Too “girly?”/off-putting on transcript to employers  
  
**Products Liability**

**Pros**

-Natural continuation of Torts

-Professor Kelly teaching = another A?

**Cons**

-Professor Kelly teaching  
  
He saw Elizabeth coming through the front doors of the library so he flipped the binder shut back to how he’d found it.

When she got to the counter, she didn’t look surprised to see him in her chair but she did look suspicious.

“Were you looking at my notebooks?”

He frowned at her, annoyed by the question. Why was she always accusing him of trying to look at her stuff? 

\-----

The last Thursday in June, he got to the library and headed over to the table he had started to think of as theirs. She wasn’t there, so he sat down to wait. 

After a couple minutes, Ms. Biggs walked by. She seemed surprised to see him. 

“Oh, Christopher, you’re out here. I thought you and Beth signed up for a private study room today.”

That was weird. The library had several private study rooms for group use. If you were like Elizabeth and her study group, you used them for a quiet place to meet instead of sitting at a table out in the open. If you weren’t a nerd, since they were windowless and the doors had locks, you mostly used the rooms for hook-ups.

Him and Elizabeth had never used one. 

(Obviously.)

She had signed them up for one? Why? 

He immediately headed to the second floor where the study rooms were. 

Only one of them had the “Occupied” sign flipped. He could hear the murmur of Elizabeth’s voice coming from inside. 

Who was she in there with?

He tried the door, but it was locked. So he gave it a pound with his fist. 

Immediately, it got quiet, then he heard muffled whispering inside. 

There was a long pause.

The door opened a crack, just enough to frame one blue eye staring out at him. 

“Oh, hi.” Elizabeth said it like it was totally normal for him to be having a conversation with a sliver of her face. 

From behind her came the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. She tensed and pulled the door closed a fraction more.

“I’ll be out soon. Can you wait for me at our table downstairs?” 

“Who’s in there with you?”

“I just need to finish something really quickly and then I’ll be down.”

“Who’s in there with you?”

“Nobody is in here, God!”

“Ummm, wow! Rude!” came a girl’s voice behind her and he felt himself relax a little. 

The one blue eye he could see closed in defeat. Then Elizabeth opened the door all the way and stuck her head out, looking both ways. He almost laughed. Literally there couldn’t have been more than ten people total in the library, what was with the secret agent shit.

She reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. 

It was the first time he could ever remember her touching him. He was so surprised that he let her tug him inside and shut the door behind him. 

Her sister was sitting at the table, bouncing a chubby little baby in a green dinosaur sleep suit on her lap. 

“Hey, it’s you,” she said, grinning at him. He tipped his chin to her. 

“My sister, Annie,” Elizabeth gestured between them, “Annie, this is, um, Rio, my, um…”

“Boss,” he said to the sister at the same time Elizabeth finished, “partner.” 

Elizabeth glared at him. Her sister laughed. 

“And this is Sadie,” Annie said, bouncing the baby up higher towards him.

He reached out and chucked the baby’s drooly little chin.

“Cute kid.”

Annie beamed at him, big and bright.

There were flashcards and notebooks spread out on the table, as well as several books stacked up. He read the title of the book on top upside down. 

_GED Study Guide_. 

Elizabeth saw him looking at it and cleared her throat.

“There are certain, ah, _alternative_ types of diplomas that are just as _valid_ as traditional ones. You just have to take a test to get them. Then you can use them _every way_ a traditional diploma can be used. Like _college_ definitely, but, anything really.” 

Rio noticed she avoided saying it was a diploma for people that dropped out of high school or that it was her sister that needed to take it. Like he might somehow forget that Elizabeth was in law school with him and he would think it was her that was studying for the GED. 

“Elizabeth, I know what the GED is.”

“Yeah, _Elizabeth_ , he knows what the GED is.”

Elizabeth shot a warning look at Annie before looking back at him. She hesitated a second before taking a deep breath. 

“You’re not allowed to sign up for a private study room without putting down at least two names.” 

Yeah, he knew that.

“You’re not allowed to use the study rooms if you’re not a law student,” she continued in a rush.

Yeah, and you weren’t allowed to use them for hooking up, but that hadn’t stopped him last year neither.

She focused on a spot above his head. 

“It’s not like we’re taking a room from someone else who needs it…so, um, I’d appreciate if you didn’t…if you didn’t mention…if you didn’t tell Ms. Biggs…that I…”

Did Elizabeth actually think he was gonna run tell on her to Ms. Biggs that she had used his name to reserve a study room for her sister and her kid? Unbelievable.

“Elizabeth, I ain’t gonna rat on you.”

“Yeah, _Elizabeth_ , he ain’t gonna - ”

“Annie! I got it, enough!”

Elizabeth made eye contact with him finally.

“It’s just that we needed a quiet place for Annie to study and home wasn’t…an option today...”

“Yeah,” Annie broke in, sarcastically, “‘cause _Deansie_ needed to _sleep in_.”

“Annie! You know Thursdays are his day off,” Elizabeth shook her head, frustration all over her, “and work has been really hard for him lately!”

“How hard can it be, he works for his _dad_!”

“Annie!” Elizabeth snapped, jutting her chin at Rio, then looking back at her sister significantly.

He recognized that look. It was the same one his mom gave her baby sister when Angela started gossiping about family shit in front of outsiders. 

Her sister settled down, but with a scowl on her face. He couldn’t say he blamed her. Did this dude really kick his sister-in-law and a baby out the house instead of finding some damn earplugs? 

“I’m just helping Annie get started,” Elizabeth turned back to him in half-apology, “then I’ll be down.” 

“Just go ahead and go _now_ ,” Annie said, sulky, “this is, like, a _total_ waste of time anyway.”

“Annie!”

“What! It’s true. I barely passed Geometry the first time I had it and you don’t seem like you remember it at all!”

She bent her head down, making a big show of arranging the baby in her lap.

“Annie, I’m trying, ok?” Elizabeth said to the top of her sister’s head, “I told you…they just…it’s just they didn’t teach it like this when I was in school. But we’ll get it.”

Her sister kept her head down. 

Rio watched Elizabeth chew her lip. 

He’d seen her frustrated and upset and mad as hell more times than he could remember. But he’d never seen her look so… _helpless_ like this. 

He looked back and forth between the sisters. Like he had the first time he saw them together, he thought again how they didn’t look nothing alike physically. But they had the same tense look on both their faces, the same little air of distress. Even the baby seemed to pick up on it and start fussing. 

He should go. Leave them alone to work it out. This wasn’t his headache.

He watched Elizabeth bow her head a little and bring the fingers of one hand to the back of her neck. 

“You want some help? I did alright in Geometry.”

Both their heads snapped up in unison to look at him. 

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, thank you,” Elizabeth said automatically, all polite and correct-sounding. “But Annie and I will be just fine on our own.”

She said it like she had said it a hundred times before. 

“You sure? ‘Cause anything would be better than hearing you bitch ‘bout the alcohol budget some more,” he said, to break the tension. 

It worked. Elizabeth lost her tight, anxious look in favor of starting to glare at him again. She’d been trying to convince him for the past two weeks ‘bout how much money they could save by only serving beer and wine at the party, no hard liquor. This from someone who could hold her liquor better than any woman and most men he’d ever met. 

She opened her mouth, probably to tell him yet again that this was a _professional networking event_ with _the_ _Board of Visitors potentially_ _in attendance_ and not a _frat party_ or an _excuse_ for people to _get loaded_. 

But then she looked over to her sister. He saw her clock how Annie’s head was finally up.

Elizabeth hesitated.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt if maybe you could just help us get started a little,” she said, already reaching across the table to take the baby from her sister. 

“Thanks for the opportunity, Elizabeth,” he deadpanned.

Annie darted a look over to him quickly. He could clearly see that she was dying to say, _Yeah,_ Elizabeth _, thanks for the opportunity_. It was all over her face. She had the sense to bite her tongue though and grin at him instead. He gave her a small smirk back and tilted his head up to give her props for how she had held herself back. 

He looked over at Elizabeth to see if she had noticed but she wasn’t looking at them. She had closed her eyes and dropped her cheek down to nuzzle against the baby’s head. 

She looked so soft doing it, so different from how she usually was. For a second, it stopped him short, just watching her.

He shook his head a little to clear it and turned back to Annie, dropping down in the empty chair next to her and throwing his bag on the floor.

“’Kay, so once you got the formulas and know the angles, Geometry ain’t nothing hard. Which part you wanna start with?” 

\-----

Elizabeth had a lot of “great ideas” that just sounded to him like excuses for her to get more stressed out. Like when she told him she had gotten a list of the names of all the incoming students from the Assistant Dean and she was gonna do all the nametags in calligraphy herself. 

“They’ll be keepsakes!”

“Elizabeth.” He looked at her with pity. “People take nametags off the second the party is over and throw ‘em in the trash.”

“That’s not true! I still have mine from last year!”

Jesus, really? Why?

He knew she’d probably spend hours doing it. He could just picture her sitting there, head bent down, carefully making each one, just for people to toss ‘em aside later at the bar.

“No. That’s gonna take you too long.”

“How do you know that?” she asked heatedly, “do you even know anything at all about calligraphy?” 

He stared at her, amazed that she would ask such a dumb question. Of course he didn’t. 

“Of course you don’t! I’m telling you that I can easily make them all myself!”

“And _I’m_ telling _you_ that’s bullshit. You ain’t spending hours making 242 nametags when we got the money and can order ‘em.”

For a second, he thought she was going to keep pushing back. He watched her narrow her eyes at him, her pink lips pushed together in a mutinous line. Then, abruptly, her face cleared and she nodded sheepishly, ducking her head and looking up at him through her lashes. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right, you’re right,” she sighed, her voice a little breathy, “I should never have thought of making them myself. I’ll order them.” 

She bent her head down and began crossing through the “Make Nametags” line on her list, carefully making two little perfect parallel lines through the words.

He watched the top of her golden head thoughtfully. She was fucking going to do it anyway, wasn’t she?

“Elizabeth,” he said softly. 

He waited until she looked up, then leaned forward in his chair. She tilted her head at him in question.

“Darlin’…”

Her eyes snapped straight to his at the word.

“…if I get to the party…”

He put his arm out, rested his hand by hers. She looked down at their hands resting side by side on the table. 

“…and I see you made those nametags...”

He touched her wrist gently with just his fingertips. She didn’t pull away, just kept watching his hand.

“ _I’m_ gonna throw every single fuckin’ one in the fuckin’ trash.” He punctuated each word with a light tap on her wrist. 

Her face darkened immediately and she snatched her hand away, scowling. So much for the demure little lady shit. He fucking knew that had been an act.

“You _wouldn’t_.” 

“Try me.”

\-----

By the mid July, they had finally almost hashed out the catering menu. He stretched out at their table and checked his watch. Realized he had to get moving to make it to his internship. 

“Kay, I gotta head out, we can finish up Monday.”

“Oh. Um, actually, I’m not working next week.”

“Why not?” he looked at her suspiciously. They’d been fighting over the vegetarian versus non-vegetarian ratio of appetizers for the party. (He knew she was advocating for more non-vegetarian options just to fuck with him. Like she hadn’t written hundreds of words bitching about the cafeteria’s lack of _vegetarian_ options not even eight months ago in her article, which he had been forced to read.) 

If she thought she could just push him off until she could make the order with the caterer alone…. 

“I’ll be on vacation.”

Vacation? 

Actually, now that he thought about it, that sounded like a good idea. Sometimes she looked so tired.

“Oh yeah? With your sister?”

She looked away.

“Um, no. With my…with Dean.” 

Oh. Right. Most of the time he forgot Elizabeth was married. Whenever he could get her off the topic of the party long enough, if she mentioned anybody at all, it was only ever “Ruby” or “Annie” or “Sadie,” never whatever his name was – _Dean_ or whatever. 

They sat in silence for a bit. He knew he should get going.

“So where you headed?” 

“Kalamazoo,” she said, still not looking directly at him. 

“Kalamazoo?” he repeated, incredulous. Kalamazoo was a shithole. One of his distributors operated outta Kalamazoo, and any time Rio went to check on him, he itched to leave the second he stepped foot there. 

“There’s a car show there next week that my…Dean wants – _we_ want to go to.”

She was into shit like that? He tried to picture it. 

“And that’s a fun vacation for you?” he asked curiously, trying to figure out which part of a car show would appeal to her. 

“Oh, I’m just _so sorry_ it’s not _Chicago_ or _New York_ or some place _cool_ enough for _you_!” she threw at him, getting all agitated suddenly. And for no goddamn reason. Who said anything about Chicago or New York?

“They have a planetarium! And museums! And an outdoor mall!” she continued heatedly, defending Kalamazoo as passionately as he remembered her describing the line of landmark cases that had upheld a woman’s right to enter into contracts without her husband or father’s permission first semester. 

“ _Damn_ , okay, _chill_!” 

On Monday, he was tempted to go to the library anyway just to make sure she wasn’t avoiding him, but for real, who would lie about going to Kalamazoo? It had to be true.

The following Monday though, he was back at the library just as it opened. 

He found Elizabeth behind the front desk. He looked her over closely. She didn’t look relaxed, she maybe even looked more tired than before. He could have told her that was Kalamazoo for you, but he was afraid she’d start talking up the planetarium just to prove him wrong so he kept quiet. 

“Brought breakfast.” He held up the donut bag and waggled the coffees in the little cardboard carrying tray at her. 

“We can’t eat in the library!” she gasped, scandalized.

He rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, so we eat it outside. You can’t take fifteen? Too busy in here?” He gestured to all the empty tables.

“Fine. But only fifteen minutes. I’m _working_ here.” 

He rolled his eyes again and followed her out the door.

\-----

He’d been thinking about fall semester classes ever since he had found Elizabeth’s ridiculous “Second Year Class Information” binder. He had realized suddenly that there was a chance they’d go from having every class together every day their first year to maybe just a couple times a week in their second if they picked all different classes. 

“So what classes you takin’ next semester.”

“Hmm?” she asked, her head bent over her notebook. 

“Classes. Which ones you signin’ up for?”

She looked up finally, cocked her head at him suspiciously.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just makin’ conversation, darlin’”

“I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

 _Bullshit_.

\-----

“I did it.” She told him that Thursday. She said it all wobbly and brave like she had just faced a den of lions or something. 

“Did what?” He had no clue what she was talking about.

“I ordered the nametags.” Oh, that.

“Cool.”

“From a place I found called the Paper Porcupine.” 

“Oh yeah? You didn’t want to order ‘em from the Cardboard Chipmunk?”

“What?”

“Oh, I thought we was both just saying made-up shit now.”

“I wasn’t making up…that’s the actual… – you know what, _forget it_ , the point is I _ordered_ the damn nametags, _okay_?” she dropped the tortured martyr voice and was back to bossing at him, “Are you _happy_ now?” 

Yes, actually, he was. He was always happy when he got his way, what didn’t she get about that. 

“Now. Let’s talk about the tablecloths,” she said, a steely glint in her eyes.

\-----

“So you decided yet what classes you taking?”

“Do you want to know so you can pick the same classes or different ones?”

He rolled his eyes. So suspicious. 

“Come on, Elizabeth, I’ll tell you mine if tell me yours.” 

She sniffed. 

“No. If I tell you, you’ll just make something up when it’s your turn.”

That was a little offensive. He was fully prepared to tell her the truth, it was just that the truth was he hadn’t picked any yet. 

Suddenly, a calculating look came over her face. She leaned forward in her chair and smiled at him.

“I’ll tell _you_ if you tell _me_ whether you’re going to run for 2L Class Representative next semester.”

He laughed. 

“This ain’t a negotiation, Elizabeth.”

\-----

The Thursday before the party, Rio got there when the library opened. He didn’t go to their table though or try to find Elizabeth. 

He went straight to the back to the criminal law section, where all the hornbooks and treatises were kept.

The supervising attorney at his internship had given him the case file for some kid charged with felony carjacking. Told him that unless the public defender’s office could make a good enough argument for the kid’s confession to the cops to be suppressed and thrown out, it was an open-and-shut case and the kid’d be going away for awhile. 

His supervising attorney had over 200 active cases at any one time and worked twelve hours a day. The guy barely had time to meet with all his clients in the jail, much less spend a lot of time researching a motion to suppress that was a long shot at best. 

He’d asked Rio to bring him whatever research and caselaw he could find to help him draft the motion next week. 

Rio could remember the details of most any case he had ever read, usually without even needing to look at his shorthand summaries to jog his memory. And whenever he read a case, it wasn’t hard for him to pinpoint which parts would help him and what could hurt him. Then use what he pulled to support whatever argument he was making or defend against any attack the other side had. Nothing about any of that gave him any trouble.

But researching didn’t come as easy. 

It was the tediousness of it all. Having to read ten cases just to find one that might have something to help you. Having to track down whether a particular ruling that was helpful had been overturned years later or was still good to rely on. Having to look at random other cases that were only a tiny bit related, just ‘cause they happened to have some throwaway line you could use to help you. 

It felt like trying to navigate a spider web. You’d head down one string that looked promising, trying to get to the end, only to have the web branch off in five different directions. So you’d head down another string, only to have it dead-end. Then have to make your way back and start all over again. And there were multiple paths – you couldn’t know which one was the best one unless you went down all of ‘em to compare. 

It just didn’t come easy to him.

He looked down again at the kid’s case file spread open in front of him. 

What a stupid little fucker this kid was. It wasn’t like Rio had any moral objection to stealing a car, but this dumbass had made every mistake you can make. 

Drunk off his ass when he did it. Ripped the keys out of the owner’s hand, which bumped the charges up from auto theft to carjacking due to use of “force.” Boosted the car from a super-white, super-rich neighborhood that had cops around 24-7. Got scared down at the precinct and spilled his guts immediately without a lawyer. Did all this shit six days after his 18th birthday, which meant he’d be tried as an adult instead of a juvenile. 

He shut his eyes and rubbed his hands over his eyelids. He’d thought pulling down all these dusty dumb books would give him some background on how these types of motions should be structured, maybe give him some ideas of how to narrow down his search for cases online. Whenever he had seen Elizabeth in the library last year, she’d always been surrounded by books like these, instead of in the computer lab doing online searches.

He could’ve asked Gretchen for help if she was in town but she was down in Jamaica celebrating the bar exam being done. 

He could’ve asked Gretchen’s father for help too. Xavier was his mother’s and uncle’s first cousin and their generation, which meant him and Rio weren’t super tight. But he was still family. Xavier would help him. 

But he didn’t want to go to Xavier. This would be small potatoes to him, some nobody street kid unconnected with their business – unconnected with _anybody’s_ business – who couldn’t even afford his own lawyer and had to rely on some assistant public defender making less than $40,000 a year and wearing two shitty suits in rotation every other day. 

He had a pretty good idea what Xavier’d say to him. He’d help, sure, that’s what family did, but not without reminding Rio that there was nothing to be gained from bending over backwards for this kid. 

And if there was no money in it, then why do it. It’s not like they’d ever want the kid working for them, someone so dumb and unconnected. 

Xavier might also take the time to remind him why he was supposed to be in law school in the first place. (And it wasn’t to do shit like this). Might even mention it to his uncle, and that wasn’t a conversation Rio was looking to start.

So he didn’t want to go to Xavier. He didn’t want to be told to keep his eye on the ball or have to hear a bunch of shit he already knew. All over some kid who was probably beyond help anyway.

He heard someone pull out a chair and sit down at the table. He knew it was Elizabeth. He had heard her pushing her little cart around. He’d figured she’d see he wasn’t at their table and get the hint that he couldn’t mess around her with today.

He looked up to see her watching him. She had on a gray dress with big black buttons down the front. It was so dark it made her skin look pale as milk. 

She tilted her head.

“Did you want to talk about the final checklist?”

He shook his head.

She looked like she was gonna say why not, ask him some other dumb shit about the party. 

“I’m _working_ here, Elizabeth,” he said, pointing at all the books on the table. What did she think he was fucking doing here? Did she think he’d just pulled all these books down from the shelf to look busy and fuck with her by making her put them all back?

She looked around at all the books piled up around the table. Her eyes stopped on the folder open in front of him with the kid’s mugshot stapled to the front page. She twisted her head a little to see it better. 

It made him angry for some reason. She probably would be glad when the kid went away. She probably would bake some muffins to take to the station to thank the cops for keeping her safe if it had happened in her neighborhood. 

He flipped the folder around and shoved it hard across the table at her so she could see it better.

“José Rodrìguez Pérez,” he said, pronouncing the name the correct way, making his accent as thick as he could, “dumb little shit. Eighteen. Stole a car ‘cause he needed the money. If his confession don’t get suppressed, he’s going away at least ten years for felony carjacking. Don’t matter he was drunk and had been knocked around when he gave it. Don’t matter he only talked ‘cause the cops promised he could see his mother.” 

He looked at her with almost contempt when he’d finished. He knew what she’d say. Something to remind him that “stealing was wrong.” Something self-righteous about rules being rules for a reason. 

But she didn’t say nothing. Just nodded and got up. 

She went back to her little cart and putting books away. 

He left soon after, after he had returned all the books he had pulled to the shelves. 

\-----

By Monday, he was mostly over it. The motion to kick the confession had about a snowball’s chance in hell of being granted no matter what he did. He’d done a few searches online and printed out the main cases he’d found to turn in to his supervising attorney later in the week. That was all he could do. 

It was what it was. 

And in some ways, if you thought about it, the kid was fucking lucky that he just got caught stealing some fat dentist’s car because if he had stolen _Rio’s_ car, he’d have been facing a lot worse hell than Marquette Branch Prison. So really, if you thought about it, the kid was getting off lucky. Maybe he could get his degree in prison or learn air conditioning repair or some shit. 

He made a lap of the first floor and then the second but he couldn’t find Elizabeth. When he went to the front counter to ask Ms. Biggs, she told him that Elizabeth had come by first thing to drop something off, but couldn’t stay. Her sister had the stomach flu so she had to babysit. 

“Oh! Christopher, she asked me to give this to you.” 

She handed him a thick manilla envelope with RIO written neatly on the front of it. 

Curious, he tore it open standing right there at the counter. If this was some contract for shit for the party that she had signed without running by him, she was gonna hear about it. 

It wasn’t a contract. It was a thick stack of cases. 

It looked like they were all cases where motions to suppress confessions had been granted in Michigan state courts. For confessions obtained by force, by duress, by lack of capacity due to intoxication or injury, by false promise. They were organized and separated with little flags and tabs showing the dates and what court the decision had come out of and whether it was still good law. On top was an index with full cites and cross-references. At the back she had even included a couple cases from Minnesota that looked like they had similar facts, with a Post-It note reminding him that since they were from another state, the cases were persuasive authority only, not controlling. (He almost smiled at the underlines. Only Elizabeth would still try to remind him of the difference after he had gone through all of first year sitting right next to her learning the same shit as her.) 

He just stood there flipping through it all, not even sure what to think. 

How long must it have taken her to pull together and why would she have done it.

\-----

He didn’t usually go to the library on Tuesdays but he went back the next day.

He found Elizabeth at the front desk. She looked up when he came and stood in front of her but didn’t say nothing. Just watched his face.

He bumped his fists on the counter a little before clearing his throat. 

“How’s your sister? She feelin’ better?”

“Yes, it was just a 24-hour bug.” 

He nodded. 

“Thank you for asking.”

He nodded again and tapped his thumbs on the counter. 

Why was it so hard to thank her. Last week, he had thanked Ms. Biggs two separate times for loaning him a binder clip to hold an insane stack of printouts Elizabeth had shoved off on him with pictures of different types of floral arrangements. Had thrown those _thank yous_ out there like they was nothing, just to make Ms. Biggs smile. 

He took a breath and stared down at all the spiky little cactuses Ms. Biggs had sitting around her keyboard. 

“Did you want to talk about the final checklist now?” she asked, after the silence stretched a beat too long.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat again, “yeah, definitely.”

Later, when he was getting up to leave, he tried again.

“Elizabeth.”

She looked up at him. Sometimes her eyes were just so blue.

“Those cases you found?”

She nodded.

“They were really good,” he paused, shook his head, “actually, nah..they were perfect. For real.”

She just nodded again, then bent down to her notebook. But she was smiling. The happy smile, the one he associated with her friend. 

“You’re welcome,” she said. 

He started to head out but turned back to her.

“You don’t wanna ask ‘bout why he did it?”

She shook her head and shrugged a little.

“Why not?” He was so curious.

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

\-----

A week before the party, she told him she needed his phone number in case they had to sort out “last minute details.” 

He stared, absolutely amazed at the balls on her to ask that – no, _demand_ that – when _she_ had given _him_ a fake number barely three months ago.

“Oh, you mean my real number or the fake one I give out to people to fuck with ‘em?” he asked her.

She really had the nerve to scrunch her face up at him in confusion like she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“See, when I tried callin’ you, that number you gave me didn’t work,” he pressed, completely forgetting about not letting on that he tried the fake number in the face of her sheer audacity.

She frowned.

“That’s weird.” 

“Gimme your phone.” No way he was telling her his number and then waiting around for her to call without finally having her number too. 

She handed it over (with suspicion, he noticed, and that was really rich coming from _her_ ) and he texted himself from her phone, then pulled out his own phone to check the text.

“Oh wow, Elizabeth, see, I had your number down as ending in 2-4, not 4-2.”

“That’s so weird,” she said, frowning again.

“Yeah! Weird!”

Jesus, the balls on her.

\-----

After all Elizabeth’s stress and obsession with meaningless details over the summer, he’d pretty much expected her to be a nervous wreck during the party itself. Had even started thinking about what he could say to calm her down after he’d gotten her third text before noon about last-minute “emergencies” that weren’t anywhere in the vicinity of an actual emergency. 

But the second the party started, she was just like he remembered from last year. Natural, smiling, moving easily from group to group. Maybe she still did talk more to the professors and faculty than people actually their own age, but he saw her several times with students too.

Wherever he was in the Atrium, he could scan the room and find her within a couple seconds. She seemed like she had a glow or something, like she was the perfect hostess that the whole party was revolving around. 

He went to get a drink. While he was standing in line, he looked around the Atrium at the party in full swing. Everything really was running perfectly. 

Well, almost everything. 

When he tried to order a vodka soda, the bartender told him that they only had beer and wine. 

Rio cocked his head at him, confused for a second. He had reviewed the final alcohol order and sent it over himself. He had even added another couple handles of vodka and bourbon to the list over what he had got Elizabeth to finally agree to, just so they wouldn’t run out. 

But when the bartender told him that “someone” had called in with a “corrected” order “last minute” and pulled out a copy of the order to show him, he wasn’t even surprised to see Elizabeth’s signature at the bottom of the page. 

He was actually more impressed than mad that she had gotten that past him. Still didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna give her shit though. 

He saw her across the Atrium talking to some tall dude who looked like a walking Ken doll. He had already seen this guy talking her ear off earlier in the party. 

He walked up to them, ready to ask Elizabeth if she felt like a bourbon just to see if she would lie to his face.

“Oh, good, you’re here, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Elizabeth smiled her bright plastic hostess smile at him and gestured to the Ken doll, who stuck out his hand. “This is Gardner Warrington.” 

Was that a joke? He looked at the guy’s name tag just to be sure as he shook his hand. Why would somebody name their kid that?

“The _Fourth_ ,” she said, significantly, like that was better, instead of so much worse.

“Okay.”

He could tell she could tell that meant nothing to him.

“His father is Gardner Warrington III,” she tried again. 

Again, why would somebody name their kid that?

“The Honorable Gardner Warrington III. Formerly a senior partner at Warrington, Perkins & Watkins, PLLC. He’s a federal judge in the Western District of Michigan now,” the Ken doll explained. 

“Okay,” Rio said again. 

“Gardner is one of our incoming first-years.” Elizabeth said, like that wasn’t obvious.

Yeah, he got that. So were the other 240 kids standing around the Atrium. Why wasn’t she trying to talk to any of them instead of focusing on this guy. 

The silence stretched.

“Need another drink,” he finally told them and headed back to the bar. The last thing he wanted to do was stand around and talk about this Garden dude’s dad, damn. 

Why did Elizabeth like shit like that? Earlier, she had been more excited than he had ever seen her, pointing out to him the _President_ of the _Board of Visitors_ who apparently _never_ came to _these events_. He had looked to where she was pointing and had pissed her off by asking “Boring looking old white dude on the right or boring looking old white dude on the left?” which apparently wasn’t showing the “proper respect.” 

He got a beer then made it a point to talk to as many of the students he could. Although, it was something of a struggle, because Jesus, most of these kids just seemed so young. All so eager and wide-eyed babbling excitedly about their first year like it wasn’t gonna be 90% boring as shit. 

Still, he kept at it. They were supposed to be hosting this thing, not standing in a corner talking to one person. 

\-----

The party was over. 

The new students who wanted to continue the fun had headed off to the bar down the street for the afterparty. The faculty were long gone. The clean-up crew was breaking down the tables while the other staff packed up the drink glasses and the remnants of the food. 

He tipped out the last of waiters and looked around for Elizabeth. 

He was feeling the effects of the six beers he’d had a little. Elizabeth had tried to remind him again last week that they shouldn’t have more than two drinks all night, but fuck that, who could get through these things sober? He’d noticed she hadn’t protested though when he’d brought her the third glass of wine, just took it automatically and smiled at him, then went back to listening to whatever that Board of Visitors dude was droning on about. 

She didn’t say protest now neither when he sat down next to her on the front steps outside and handed her a beer he had snagged from the bartenders as they packed up. 

“Thank you,” she told him.

He nodded and took a long drink from his own bottle.

“Are you going to the afterparty?” she asked. 

“Headed there next.” 

He thought about asking her to come. But she’d just say no. 

“That girl Dylan seemed cool.” 

Who? Oh, yeah. One of the new students – cute and tiny with big brown eyes – who he had talked to a couple times at the party. She had told him she’d look for him at the bar later so she could hear more about his moot court experience.

He hummed in response and took another swallow. 

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, enjoying the feeling of the cold beer in his hand and the heavy warmth of the August night. 

“Rio?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She had her elbow propped up on her knee, resting her chin in her hand as she looked back at him. 

He had sat next to her every day for a year. But somehow the heat and the alcohol and the dark night made it feel like this was the first time they had sat so close.

“Yeah?” 

She hesitated for a second, held his gaze. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth to nibble on it a little. His eyes dropped down to watch her do it.

“Are you going to run for 2L Class Representative?” Her voice was soft.

For a split second, he almost told her. He caught himself though. Then he laughed.

“I don’t know, Elizabeth, what classes you takin’?” 

“None of your business,” she said, the moment broken as she looked away, but he caught her smile real quick before she hid it. 

(He already knew anyway. He’d checked her binder again last week when she’d gone to the bathroom. Saw which ones she had put the little star stickers next to and her little labeled “Final Schedule.” Made his own class choices accordingly). 

“Nice try though,” he said, holding up his bottle to her.

“Worth a shot.” She clinked her bottle to his, then took a long swallow. 

“It went really well, don’t you think?” she asked. 

“Yeah, it did.” 

He watched her as she closed her eyes, stretching out her arms in front of her. There was just a bit of a breeze ruffling through her hair. She looked relaxed and calm. 

It was nice. Not feeling like they had to say nothing. Sitting next to her on the steps, drinking and watching the cars go by, the success of the party between them. 

It wouldn’t last. He knew that. Any minute now the husband would be pulling up and honking at her and she’d be driving off with him. And Monday, classes would start again and they’d be back at each other’s throats. 

But for now, it was nice. 

The bar could wait. He’d sit a little while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to distract myself from nonstop election results refreshing so this is the result. Not sure how this got so long when it should be describing a summer interlude, but here I am. 
> 
> Also, my mostly-extrapolated-through-deep-disgust-of-Dean-and-Beth’s-one-conversation-with-Judith head canon is that Dean’s dad was even more gross than Dean (seems impossible tho) and since he’s from the older generation where you can get away with more, makes the Boland Motors female staff dress like they’re Mad Men secretaries. Again, I am aware this is a lot of thought put into a character that never even appeared on screen, but that’s my story that I’m sticking to. It gave me an excuse to google Joan’s outfits in Mad Men tho so that was fun. 
> 
> Thank you again SO much for everyone that has liked and commented, it seriously gives me life. 
> 
> P.S. Apologies to anyone from Kalamazoo, I’m sure it’s lovely. Rio is a bougie asshole. 


	5. 2L - Fall Semester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is over and it's time to get down to business. If first year means they scare you to death and second year means they work you to death, how hard does Beth want to work if it means beating him? (Answer: pretty hard.)

A part of Beth – but only a very small part really – had actually thought he might call her the first week of summer break. 

That was completely crazy. She had known that. Absolutely insane. 

Rio couldn’t pull her real phone number out of thin air. He wasn’t a _wizard_ , after all. 

He was just a normal 23-year-old guy who thought that he was allowed to be arrogant and annoying just because he was so good-looking and everyone liked him. 

(Or was he 24? If he had gone straight through from undergrad to law school with no time off, it would depend on when his birthday was. He could be 24. He could even be 25 if he had taken a year off somewhere along the way or been held back a grade. Although, why would he have been held back a grade? He was at the top of their class. He was definitely either 23 or 24. Although, God forbid, he could even be 22 if he had skipped a grade somewhere along the way. That would be terrible.)

Still. 

Still, she had found herself checking her phone that first day of break – only once though – and then just a few more times that week and the next as she had settled into the summer. 

She had just had a feeling. After spending a whole school year together, seeing each other every day, it had just seemed unreal to be on campus every day without him. Like somehow law school wasn’t really law school if he wasn’t there with her.

But three weeks in and still no sign of him (and, of course, there was no reason on earth why there would have been, what did he care about planning a party), she had been able to laugh about it all to herself. She could finally relax and really concentrate on building up her Party Planning Binder in earnest. 

And then had come that morning in the library when she had walked around the corner and had seen him standing there – and dressed like _that_ – and had literally gotten the surprise of her life. 

Beth was vividly reminded both of that moment and of the wild, crazy thought she had had - that Rio and law school were just destined to go hand-in-hand together for her - every day the first week of the new semester.

Because it turned out that they had somehow picked the exact same classes, each and every single one, and once again, they were going to be spending the whole semester together.

\-----

Of course, it wasn’t that big of a surprise to see him walk through the door in Civil Procedure, her first class on Monday morning. Civ Pro and Constitutional Law were required courses for their Section for the fall semester. 

It was a surprise though when he came over and plopped down next to her in the front row. There hadn’t been a seating chart posted on the door, which meant they finally had the freedom to choose where to sit. Rio had always seemed like he had hated sitting in the front row. 

But he didn’t fire up his laptop or start getting settled. It became clear that he had only come over to tease her.

“Yo, Elizabeth, so how those thank you notes coming along?” 

Beth smothered the urge to snap at him. 

Saturday morning, after the party, she had texted him to ask when he wanted to sign the thank you notes she had written to each member of the Board of Visitors to thank them for attending. 

He had texted back immediately – _ha_ – and then, ten seconds later, while she was still puzzling out what he meant by that – _good one elizabeth_

That had been infuriating because first of all, she hadn’t been joking, and second, did he want to sign the thank you notes or not?! (And third, why did he always refuse to use proper capitalization or punctuation in any of his texts?) 

She wasn’t going to _beg him_ to do the proper polite thing though so she hadn’t responded to his texts. (Either the first two or the _???_ one he sent a couple hours later that she also had no idea how to decipher.)

Beth had argued with herself all weekend about just not including him on the notes at all and only signing her own name. 

But…that had seemed wrong somehow. Mean-spirited. If she was being _totally_ fair, he _had_ contributed to planning and organizing the party (at least 30% of the total effort, maybe even 40% if you really looked hard at it). 

If she only included her own name, it might look like she was trying to take all the credit (even if she had done _most_ of it and hadn’t actually needed his help to do _any_ of it). 

Finally, grudgingly, she had decided to sign both of their names together. For his name though, she had written “Christopher,” not “Rio,” because she suspected it would have annoyed him if he knew and that made her laugh to herself. (Although once she had written it out - _Beth Boland and Christopher Bonilla_ \- it had looked weird with his name so much longer. So she had redone it. _Elizabeth Boland and Christopher Bonilla._ Her name still first of course because she had done more. That had looked right.)

“I dropped them all off at the Post Office last night,” she told him, airy like _of-course-I-took-care-of-it-like-I-always-do_ but also superior so he’d know _no-thanks-to-you_. 

“Wow, waitin’ almost 48 hours after a party ends to send a thank you note? You’re slippin’, mamí.” 

_Mamí_? She didn’t even know how to respond to that. (And she could have sent them sooner if he had just responded to her text like a normal person!) 

She busied herself with setting up her notebooks and pens, sure he would go find another seat farther back from the front row if she ignored him. 

He didn’t make any move to get up though so she looked back again. He was still just sitting there smiling at her. 

Well. She studied him. She supposed they never did actually get to have a proper debrief after the party ended. They really should close the loop there.

“So, how was the afterparty?” she asked. 

Of course she knew that _technically_ the afterparty wasn’t actually part of the party itself, given that it was off-campus and not sanctioned by the SBA, but it was in the name, right? After _party_? She should still ask about it to get a proper sense of how the whole night had ended, especially since she hadn’t gone. 

“Cool, cool.” 

“Did a lot of the new students go?” She had gone up to him at one point during the party to see if he also thought the music was too loud and needed to be turned down. He had been talking about the afterparty to one of the new students. Dylan Carter – her nametag had read. She had been laughing as she touched his arm. 

“Yeah, a bunch. You should of come.” He was still smiling, but she looked away. She hadn’t been invited. 

“Your little friend ‘Garden Number 5’ was there,” he continued, which made her look back at him but only so he could see she was rolling her eyes. He knew very well his name was _Gardner_ and he was the _Fourth_ and he wasn’t her “little friend.” She had met him once and he was practically a fetus. 

And where did he get off making fun of other people’s names – he went by _Rio_ for heaven’s sake! 

Before she could tell him all that though, Professor Smithson was rushing in breathless, tie eschew and arms full of books. It was his first year as a professor. He looked barely older than Beth. 

After several hems and haws, Professor Smithson stuttered out that he’d never be able to learn everyone’s names if they moved around too much. He was going to pass a blank seating chart up and down the rows to be filled out and everyone should just keep their current seats for the semester. 

Ha! Beth looked over at Rio, still trapped next to her, and smirked. Now he’d be stuck in the front row all semester. 

That’s just what he deserved for trying to tease her. 

\-----

Of course, it also wasn’t a surprise that they had their Section’s other required course – Con Law – together either. (Although it _was_ a surprise to see an assigned seating chart – alphabetical by last name just like last year – on the door when she got there Monday afternoon. Professor Sokolov was apparently old-school about seating arrangements.)

It was when he walked into Business Associations on Tuesday morning that she started to get that funny feeling. 

He didn’t try to sit next to her in the front row. Just took a seat in the row behind her. Although given that it was stadium-style seating with each row higher than the one in front of it, she frankly would have preferred to sit next to him. This way, he was above her, looking down over her shoulder. She was sure he would see that as some kind of metaphor for something. 

She couldn’t resist turning in her chair to ask him if he realized this was Business _Associations_ – a theory class heavy on case law – and not Business _Formations_ – a practice class focused on real world application of principles. It just seemed like he would have preferred the second one so much more. 

“Elizabeth.” He looked at her like she was a small child asking stupid questions, “One, I can read. Two, Business Associations is always on the bar exam.” 

Which. _She_ knewthat – how did _he_ know that?! She refused to believe he was already preparing for the bar exam! 

(Although. Could he be? If so, she would kill to know how he was planning out which classes to take.)

It was when she walked into Family Law Tuesday afternoon – a little later than she would have liked after having to stop by the Financial Aid office about her student loans – and saw him already sitting there, that it hit her like a brick. 

They had the exact same classes. Again.

“Elizabeth!” He exclaimed loudly when he saw her stopped dead in the doorway, “You copying my schedule now?” 

Half the class turned to stare at her and she hoped she wasn’t turning red as a beet. 

She took the only seat left, two seats down from him in the same row, and pointedly avoided looking at him for the rest of the class.

She wasn't sure what fate felt like, but she hoped it didn't feel like this. 

\-----

He didn’t run for 2L Class Representative.

She had been so sure that he would. For all that his main goals at the SBA meetings last semester had appeared to be 1) making fun of the agenda, and 2) trying to enrage her by lazily calling out to Gretchen that he would “assign Elizabeth” to any task the SBA needed the 1Ls to do, she still couldn’t believe that he would pass up a chance to be a part of the SBA again.

He had a good chance of winning the election, she knew that. A better chance than Beth did. She knew that too.

He had won last year based pretty much solely on his popularity (because, again, _clearly_ it had nothing to do with how much he had done for the class their first semester, which, again, had been _zero_ ). And with a semester as the elected representative under his belt plus the name recognition of having won the moot court competition, she knew his chances to win would be even better this time. 

This was not to say that she planned to throw in the towel. Not by any means. She had brainstormed several strategies of how to campaign even more effectively this time around, starting with handwritten notes in all the 2L mailboxes outlining her platform and a new article in _The Student Advocate_ subtly pointing out the importance of increasing opportunities for women in the law, which she hoped would put a bug in everyone’s ears that they should be selecting a woman (well, selecting _Beth_ ). 

So when the envelopes with the ballots and candidate position statements were distributed the second week of classes and she tore hers open, Beth just sat there uncomprehending when she didn’t see his name on the ballot. She shuffled through the papers again, but there was nothing from him. 

Why wouldn’t he want to be on the SBA anymore? It was the kind of thing that employers loved to see on your resume. And it was just so much fun to make decisions on behalf of the class and try to direct school policy. 

She just didn’t understand. 

Beth knew she should just let sleeping dogs lie, but she had to know. When she saw him next in Civ Pro, she asked him straight out why he wasn’t running. 

“Decided it was time to flip my game, darlin’,” he grinned at her, easy and open, probably just _delighted_ she had broken down and asked him after he had been childishly refusing half the summer to just tell her! “It’s all yours.” 

Beth frowned. First, she didn’t even know what he was talking about (flip what game??). And second, she didn’t want him _giving_ her the position. 

She wanted to _beat_ him, fair and square.

But.

On the other hand, she really did want to be 2L Class Representative. 

So she still went through with all her campaigning ideas. Even if some of them did seem a bit like overkill with Rio not in the race. 

And it still felt really damn good when the election results were in and she was announced the winner. Even if a part of her maybe thought it would have felt even better if she had won and Rio had been second so he could be _her_ alternate this year. 

That would have tasted so sweet.

Beth shoved all that aside though. What mattered was she had won. 

It was going to be such a good year for the SBA too. She finally had the perfect opportunity to implement all her ideas to make the SBA even better. 

Last year, Gretchen had ruled as SBA President with something of an iron fist. But the new President was a pale, watery-eyed 3L named Barry Fink who lacked even a smidge of Gretchen’s fire. Beth was pretty sure she wouldn’t have any issue shaping the SBA’s agenda for the year. 

She couldn’t wait for the first SBA meeting of the year.

\-----

Professor Katz had seemed relatively normal their first couple of Family Law classes. 

But clearly something had happened in his personal life between the first week of the semester and the second because three classes in, and he was off the rails.

“Who can tell me how many state prisons there are in Michigan?” Professor Katz boomed from the lectern at the front.

Beth blinked in mild surprise. This seemed like a topic more suited for their Crim Law class last semester. But, no matter, she had done the research back then anyway for her outline so she already knew the answer.

She raised her hand.

“Ms. Boland!”

“31,” Beth answered.

“Wrong!” Professor Katz slapped his hand on the lectern for emphasis. “There are almost 1.8 _million_ prisons all over the state of Michigan at any given time during the calendar year!”

Beth frowned. That…was not correct. Like, _at all._ She wondered if Professor Katz was perhaps on some kind of medication? 

She leaned forward slightly and snuck a glance under her lashes sideways over at Rio to see how he was reacting. 

He was slouched back lazily in his chair with his legs kicked out in front of him under his desk like usual. But his eyebrows were furrowed and it looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stared at Professor Katz.

Okay good, Beth thought, Rio thought this was weird too. 

“ _Marriages_ , people, _get with it_!” Professor Katz continued heatedly, starting to pace back and forth, “According to the Department of Health and Human Services, there are….One. Point. Eight. _Million._ _Married_. Couples. In. Michigan! And that means almost two _million_ state _prisons_!”

The class was dead silent, the normal low clatter of fingers tapping on keyboards completely gone for once.

Professor Katz seemed pleased to have their undivided attention. 

“Yes,” he nodded, satisfied, as though a universal truth was finally seeing the light of day, “ _Exactly_. That _is_ what I’m saying. Because what _exactly_ is marriage if not… _prison_?”

Beth blinked again. Should she be writing this down? It seemed very hard to believe that this would be on the final exam. 

She risked sneaking another glance over at Rio to gauge his reaction. 

This time, she found him staring straight back at her, leaning way forward on his desk to see around the people between them, like he had been waiting for her to look over to him. 

As soon as he caught her eye, he mouthed exaggeratedly, “ _what…the…fuck_?” 

The absurdity of the situation combined with the look on Rio’s face was suddenly all so funny to Beth that she had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing. He seemed to realize her dilemma and immediately looked pleased to have provoked that reaction in her.

Hastily, she looked away from Rio and back down to her notebook, before Professor Katz noticed. She could feel Rio still looking at her though and that made the laughter threaten to burst out even harder. Really, he just didn’t care _at all_ about being subtle. 

She worked determinedly to control herself, although she suspected that if she started hysterically laughing and disrupted class, Rio would be delighted.

“Don’t believe me? Well, let me put it to you this way, boys and girls. You think you’re in love, right? So you have your little _apple orchard_ _wedding_ with the _harpist_ from _Vermont_ and the _eleven_ bridesmaids and your cozy little $50,000 reception with the _almond sachets_ and the _cupcake tower_ instead of a real damn wedding cake, and what next? What then? What happens when you want _out_?” 

Beth bit her lip harder and refused to look at Rio. 

“You don’t _get_ out!” Professor Katz answered his own question triumphantly, “Not without the state’s say-so, you don’t! Not without the _state_ looking over every bit of your personal life and finances. _The state_ decides whether or not you can be free, not you! So don’t kid yourself, _kids_ , that _ain’t_ nothing more than a state…sponsored… _prison_.” 

She would not look at Rio. She would not look at Rio. 

It wasn’t until class was finally over and Professor Katz had swept out the door that she finally thought it was safe to look at him again. 

It seemed like he had just been waiting for her to do it.

“ _Damn_ ,” he whistled, “Katz is goin’ through some _shit_ , ain’t he?”

She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. She had bottled it up all class and now it just spilled out. 

She laughed until her shoulders shook and she had to rub the tears out of her eyes. He just watched her laugh, looking pleased again.

“So you gonna stay in or drop?” he asked when the worst of her fit was over and she was just hiccupping a little. 

Oh, right. She had forgotten they still had the option to drop classes and add different ones through the end of the week. 

She considered. Unlike many of their other professors, Professor Katz actually maintained an active law practice in addition to teaching. All the past student reviews that Beth had compiled had talked about how refreshing it was to have a professor with real world legal experience. It was part of the reason why she had been looking forward to taking his class. 

On the other hand, there was another Family Law class offered with another professor. Maybe she should switch over.

She looked at Rio and wondered what he would do. (Not that what _he_ was going to do had any impact on what _she_ was going to do. She was just curious, that was all.)

When she didn’t answer, he spoke again, as though she had asked him his plans too.

“Kinda wanna stay and see where all this goes, you know what I mean?”

Yes, she did. 

She decided to stay. It would be a pain to rearrange her schedule at this point anyway. 

\-----

When Beth walked into the first SBA meeting of the year and saw Rio sitting there, she almost tripped over her feet.

He looked completely at ease, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head chatting casually to Carrie Kim, the 3L Class Representative, sitting next to him. 

She marched straight up to him.

“What are you doing here?”

He broke off whatever he was saying to make Carrie giggle to look up at Beth. 

“What do you think?” he asked, as though it should be self-explanatory.

“You know this is the first SBA Meeting of the year, right?”

She was standing right in front of his desk so close in front of him that she could feel his long legs brushing against either side of her knees. She was so close he had to lean all the way to the side in his chair so he could see around Beth in order to stare pointedly at the whiteboard behind her. Carrie Kim looked too and Beth watched her hide a smile behind her hand. 

Beth turned around to look.

 _First SBA Meeting of the Year_ , someone had written on the whiteboard.

“Elizabeth,” Rio asked her very seriously, like he genuinely wanted to know the answer, “ _do_ you actually think I can’t read?”

Carrie laughed. 

Beth felt her face grow hot, but she refused to let him get her off track. 

“You know what I mean. You’re not on the SBA this year!” 

“Why do you say that?” he asked curiously. 

Beth wondered if déjà vu felt like a rushing in your ears and an urge to ball your hands into fists. 

“Because you didn’t even run in the election!”

He hummed in response. 

“ _I’m_ the one who won the election!”

He nodded encouragingly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Beth could see Carrie Kim looking back and forth between them. Beth didn’t even care.

“You _said_ you were ‘flipping your game!’” 

Damn him for making her repeat something so stupid!

“Relax, Elizabeth, your win is safe. This ain’t another _Bush v. Gore_ situation.” 

She bit her lip. 

They’d been studying the 2000 presidential election all week in Con Law. Maybe she _had_ been a little too passionate defending Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s dissent arguing that the Fourteenth Amendment shouldn’t be invoked to rob Vice-President Gore of his win. (During the election, Annie’s 8th grade civics teacher had offered extra credit for any student that volunteered with either campaign. She and Beth had spent several Saturdays downtown stuffing envelopes at the Gore campaign headquarters. It was one of Beth’s favorite memories.) 

“I’m the Moot Court Board representative, darlin’” he finally explained, almost kindly. 

She shut her mouth, aware that it was gaping open like a fish. Yes, of course she had known that in addition to the elected positions, all the major student organizations appointed representatives to the SBA. It just never would have occurred to her that he would be one of them. 

She stared at him, uncomprehending. 

Surely if the Moot Court Board had tried to appoint him and he didn’t want to do it, he could have found a way out of it, couldn’t he have? 

Did that mean he actually _wanted_ to be on the SBA?

Beth was struck by a sudden certain and growing horror that this might in fact be the dream scenario for him. He could still put the SBA on his resume. And he’d have all the fun of crapping on the SBA agenda (and _her_ ) that had given him so much pleasure last year combined with none of the actual responsibilities as an elected official. 

She turned on her heel to go find a seat on the other side of the room before she had a heart attack, ignoring his laughing “Hold up, Elizabeth, I saved you a seat!” behind her.

They didn’t even make it halfway through the meeting before her suspicions were confirmed.

The pending agenda item was which new first-year student the SBA should appoint as 1L Class Representative. 

Beth figured that since she had _actually been_ the appointed 1L Class Representative last fall, she had a certain unique (correct) perspective on who the SBA should choose. 

She asked the President to be recognized to make a motion to nominate. Barry immediately agreed.

Beth stood up and laid out the case for Gardner Warrington. He was bright (all As in undergrad!) and well-connected (with a father as a federal judge, that should have gone without saying). He seemed popular and well-liked among the 1Ls. Best of all, Beth had met with him several times and she could personally attest that he had expressed his strong interest in the position.

Barry blinked at her owlishly when she finished and immediately seconded her motion. 

“Thank you, Beth, it sounds like Mr. Warrington would be perfect?” Barry made it sound like a question at the end, like he was asking for Beth’s approval. 

Beth smiled warmly at him and gave him a little encouraging nod. She really was looking forward to working with Barry this year. 

She caught Rio’s eye across the room. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His jaw was set and he was regarding her coolly.

She tilted her head a little to him in confusion, just as he spoke up. 

“Yo. Let’s pick Dylan Carter.”

Beth frowned before she could help herself. Just like last year, Rio made zero attempt to follow Robert’s Rules of Order dictating proper meeting etiquette and ask to be recognized by the President before speaking. 

He just interrupted whenever he wanted and everyone let him get away with it, dammit! 

And after contributing next to nothing substantively for a whole semester, _now_ he decided to speak up? About, _of all things_ , 1L Class Representative? And it was to nominate the girl he had _flirted_ with at the party and maybe even _hooked up_ with at the afterparty? 

It was almost literally unbelievable.

Barry was looking uncertainly at Rio, still sprawled out in his chair, before darting his eyes back over to Beth, still properly standing, like you were _supposed_ to do when you made a motion. 

Beth gave Barry a firm little bracing nod, willing him silently to grow a backbone for at least five minutes and demand Rio give the basis of his (out-of-order) nomination. 

(And she would just _love_ to hear what reason Rio came up with other than the girl was gorgeous and he wanted to sleep with her, _if he hadn’t already_!)

Barry seemed to get her message. He squared his little shoulders and turned back to Rio.

“And uh, what would be your case for nominating Ms. Carter?” 

“She’s just as smart and all those kids like her,” Rio said calmly, “Not sure what her dad does but since she didn’t mention him being a _judge_ five times, I’m guessing he ain’t one.” 

There was scattered laughter, which was just infuriating. (And Gardner's father wasn't just a judge, he was a _federal_ judge!)

“’Sides, we supposed to be all about empowering women and breaking down gender and racial barriers in the law, right?” Rio continued, looking straight at Beth as he said it.

She stared back, speechless. She had actually made almost that exact point about empowerment and breaking down barriers for women in the law in her latest article for _The Student Advocate_! 

She looked around the room a little nervously. There had to be at least several people there who read _The Student Advocate_ regularly. She wasn’t quite sure how she could argue against Rio’s point (actually _her_ point, originally, even if Rio happened to stumble on it too in his never-ending crusade to contradict her) without looking like a hypocrite to anyone who might have read her article. 

And damn Rio again for bringing up “racial” barriers which just reminded her of the awkwardness of the night they had met! 

(And dammit, it wasn’t like she had nominated Gardner because he was a white man – she had nominated him because his father was a _federal_ judge!)

She was so flustered, she barely registered it when Carrie Kim seconded Rio’s nomination. 

And then it turned out that Rio could still win an election over her because when the SBA finally voted, Dylan Carter was the winning choice for 1L Class Representative. 

\-----

“Let me riddle you this, ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Katz boomed, “the state _controls_ the prison _system_ but who actually _runs_ the _prison_ on a day-to-day basis?”

Beth paused a little from her notetaking, unsure if this was a rhetorical question that she shouldn’t try to raise her hand to answer or what exactly Professor Katz was even looking for as an answer. Sometimes, Professor Katz’s marriage/prison metaphors were a little hard to decipher. 

She studiously avoided looking at Rio – she refused to start laughing in class. 

“The warden! The warden runs the prison!” Professor Katz pounded his fist on the lectern, frustrated at the class’s silence. “That makes the judge in your divorce case _the warden_. You want out of prison? Give the warden something that makes him happy! Otherwise, you ain’t getting out!” 

Ten minutes and multiple prison references later, it turned out that Professor Katz was talking about negotiated divorce agreements, whereby couples could decide together how to divide up their assets and debts and set out each spouse’s obligations as far as alimony, child support, and child custody. 

If the parties could work through all their issues, they could avoid the time and expense and uncertainty of a trial by submitting the negotiated divorce agreement to the judge to sign off on and incorporate into the final divorce decree. Otherwise, the judge would make the decisions on all the issues and that was always a risk. 

Professor Katz then segued somewhat confusingly into a mild rant about how law students never did anything practical while in law school and by God, he aimed to change that. 

It turned out he meant to divide the class into pairs, one person to act as the divorce attorney for a fictional husband, the other person to represent the wife. Each pair would be given a fact pattern with information on the couple - their assets, debts, children, etc. The goal would be to negotiate an agreement of divorce together. 

If the students were successful, they could skip the final exam and have their agreement serve as their final grade. But if they couldn’t come to an agreement, they’d have to sit for the exam, which would be graded on the curve. 

Professor Katz started a sign-up sheet at the end of the first row.

Beth felt her excitement growing as Professor Katz continued to describe the assignment. This would be actual, real world legal work! Most everyone else in the class had had high-powered internships (Rio’s the best of all, in her opinion) or worked in law offices over the summer, but she hadn’t. 

And now here was the chance to work on an actual legal document and practice negotiation skills too!

The sign-up sheet made its way to her row. When it was passed to Beth, she studied it carefully.

The names of multiple fictional husband and wife pairs were listed: the Nguyens, the Zuckermans, the Hortons, and so on. For each couple, there was a blank line next to the husband’s name and one next to the wife’s, where students could write in their names as the attorney and claim their “clients.” 

Beth considered her choices. 

She could sign up to represent a spouse for one of the couples that no one else had chosen yet. Then pass the sign-up sheet on and wait and see who would take the other spouse. 

She could pick the other spouse for one of the couples where someone had already signed up. Courtney Pearsall and Bernie Gallagher both had open spots for their respective couples. It would be very satisfying, if not exactly challenging, to beat either of those two in a negotiation. 

Or she could sign up to represent Carl Horton, husband to Catherine Horton. 

Catherine Horton, who had already been chosen by Rio.

She leaned forward a little to look down the row at him. He was leaning forward too, resting his chin in his hand, watching to see what she’d do. 

When their eyes met, he looked down – slowly, deliberately – at the sign-up sheet in front of Beth, then looked back up to meet her eyes again. He raised one eyebrow and tipped his chin. 

She recognized the challenge for what it was. He didn’t think she’d pick him to negotiate against. Maybe he even thought she was _afraid_ to pick him. 

He smiled after a moment passed and she still didn’t move, and she knew he thought he’d won. 

She smiled sweetly back. 

Then she turned back to the sign-up sheet and signed her name next to Carl Horton, taking care to write as neatly as she could, just so she could admire the contrast between her pretty signature and Rio’s messy serial-killer handwriting in the line just below. 

He had tried to dismiss her more than once this summer by saying he wasn’t going to “negotiate” with her. 

She couldn’t wait to see how he’d like it now that he was forced to.

\-----

She made Law Review. 

She did it the hard way, too. 

At the end of their first year, after all grades were in and the final class rankings were released, the top five percent of students in the 1L class were invited onto Law Review automatically. The other – lesser – journals had their own criteria for automatic invitations as well. 

An automatic invitation to Law Review based on grades had been out for her. After last semester and the grade hit she took for missing the moot court competition. 

But there was also a writing competition open to the whole class. Although, it wasn’t actually a _competition_ , not really, even if Beth thought of it like that in her mind. 

Basically, any student who didn’t automatically qualify through grades to be a member of one of the school’s journals could submit a writing sample. Then the editors-in-chief of all the journals – Law Review, the Criminal Law Journal, the Civil Rights Journal, the Business Law Journal – met and evaluated the submissions. 

Each journal sent out a certain number of invitations, based on the quality of the submissions. 

But Law Review picked first, and they only picked one student. 

Dean had been so frustrated at the amount of time she had spent the first month of the summer researching and drafting and editing her writing submission. He had told her that he thought since it was summer, she would finally stop putting school before him. 

He had been even more frustrated when he found out that her class rank was still high enough to get an automatic invitation to one of the other journals, and in fact, Beth had received invitations to join each of them other than Law Review. Why was she wasting all this time and effort chasing after one spot that she wouldn’t even get, he had demanded, when she already had a spot on a journal anyway? 

She had tried to explain that Law Review was the school’s flagship journal, the best and most elite of all the journals. All the top law firms and judges looking for clerks would look to see who had been on Law Review. 

If she could just spend a month now working on her writing sample, making it perfect, and she actually was chosen for Law Review? It would pay off for years to come. 

(And besides, she was spending every afternoon with him at the dealership. Dressed like a ridiculous caricature of a 1950s secretary just so his father could recreate the environment _his father_ had created when Boland Motors had opened in the _actual_ 1950s. She was even considering coming back to work over Winter Break since Dean seemed to have so much trouble working with any secretary other than her. Wasn’t that all enough? She just couldn’t understand why it wasn’t enough.)

 _The Student Advocate_ published the names of all the students and their placements on each the school’s journals in the mid-September edition. Beth arrived to school early that day just so she could be there when the paper was delivered. 

The moment it arrived, she grabbed a copy and began flipping through it. When she got to the full-page announcement with the names of everyone who had made Law Review, her hand shook a little as she scanned down the list. 

And when she saw her name, she felt like her heart would burst.

It was the proudest moment she had had since law school started. 

She went to the library, supposedly to study, but really she was barely registering a word she was reading. 

She felt like she was sitting on a cloud. She couldn’t wait to call Ruby later when Ruby got off work. Even though she wouldn’t fully get why it was such a big deal, she’d still be so happy for Beth. 

By the time Business Associations rolled around that afternoon, she was happily working out a plan for how she could become Editor-in-Chief next year. 

Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned in her seat to see Rio smiling down at her. 

“Yo, Elizabeth, congratulations on Law Review.” 

Surprised, she blinked back up at him, wondering how he had found out. He hadn’t been on any of the lists himself, which wasn’t surprising given how comically annoyed he had always seemed in their Legal Writing classes. 

She smiled her thanks, but hesitated before turning back around. 

“I actually won the writing competition,” she offered. 

She wondered why she had felt compelled to tell him that, like he was Ruby or someone who would care. She hoped he didn’t think she was bragging.

“Damn, for real?” he drew back in mock shock, but she could tell he was just teasing, “that’s even cooler!”

She smiled again before she turned back around, the warm solid feeling she had had inside her all day suddenly even stronger. 

It just felt so good to hear it from someone who also knew what it meant to be the best. 

\-----

In late-September, Professor Katz handed out the fact patterns for the negotiation assignments. Each pair of students received a list of common facts about the divorcing couple, as well as a separate list of “secret” facts about just their own client labeled “CONFIDENTIAL/FOR ATTORNEY’S EYES ONLY.”

She scanned through the fact pattern avidly. Carl (46, dentist) and Catherine (43, homemaker) Horton. Married 21 years. Three children. Information was included about their various assets and debts and expenses as well. 

She didn’t open her “secret” list of facts specific to Carl Horton though. She wouldn’t put it past Rio to look over her shoulder and try to read hers.

“So how you wanna do this?” he asked her, when class was over and she was packing up all her books. 

Beth had been _dying_ for him to ask her that. 

The day they had been paired up, Beth had gone straight to the library after class and checked out several books on negotiation tips and strategies. 

She liked _Augustus “Bulldog” Parker’s_ _Seven Golden Rules of Negotiation: Negotiate to WIN!_ the best. It was very dynamic and had lots of charts and checklists, just like she liked. She had been studying it religiously ever since. 

**_(Parker’s Fifth Golden Rule of Negotiation: You set the agenda and structure of the negotiation. Don't let the other party take control.)_ **

“Well,” she began immediately, but _casually_ , as though she hadn’t been thinking of it since she had first read about the Fifth Golden Rule, “maybe it would be best if we met in the library one day before class next week. You could give me your client’s opening offer and we could go through it together.”

He cocked his head.

“The library, huh?” 

Yes, the library. In his book, Parker advised that for in-person negotiations, you should try to maneuver the other party into meeting you on your own turf. 

True, an unsophisticated negotiator might regard the library as neutral ground since they both spent so much time there last year, but really _Beth_ would have the advantage – _she_ was the one who had worked there. 

“Yes, the library,” she said sweetly, “we can meet at our table, like we did this summer.” 

“Huh.” He was regarding her carefully, “You really wanna be arguin’ and fightin’ out in the open with half the school listenin’ in?” 

Hmm. He actually had a good point there. No, she didn’t. Not because she thought he was going to be _better_ than her at negotiating or anything silly like that, but it had gotten a little heated over the summer at times. It hadn’t mattered much then because it had been summer and the library was half-empty. But now that the semester had started again, the library would be packed. It wouldn’t be appropriate to be too loud. 

“What about a private study room?” he prompted. His bottom lip was sucked in between his teeth. She hated when he did that. 

She floundered for a second. Technically, a private study room would be neutral ground too, yes. And Beth would still have the advantage. She knew he had used them before – she had seen him and Courtney Pearsall coming out of one last fall. However, she had _definitely_ met with her study group there more often. (She didn’t even think he _had_ a study group actually, unless you counted him and Courtney as one, and in Beth’s opinion, you needed at least three people before you could say it was a study _group_.) 

But. The only time she and Rio had ever been in a private study room together was that time over the summer.

The time he had caught her using his name illegally to sign up for the room. 

She studied him. 

As far as she could tell, he had never told Ms. Biggs what she did. And he had never teased her about it or even brought it up again since. 

But the only reason he would suggest one now would be to remind her of that day. Was it so she would remember how patient he had been with Annie? How much he had soothed her and helped her? Maybe he thought Beth would be more inclined to offer him a better deal if he could remind her of that. 

**( _Parker’s Third Golden Rule of Negotiation: Control your emotions. Manipulate theirs._ )**

Or could it be to hold it over her head that he had something on her?

That _really_ didn’t seem like something he would do. 

But then again, in a negotiation, Parker advised that you had to be ruthless at all times.

She shook her head. Better to avoid the library all together. 

They finally decided instead to meet at a little café around the block from campus that he said made a “dope” breakfast. She wasn’t quite sure that they should be eating while working, but on the other hand, that was the whole concept behind a “working lunch” like they were always doing on television, right? 

And it was better than his first suggestion of meeting at a bar, which she knew he had just said to be ridiculous. 

\-----

She had noticed it their first year but it was even clearer now. 

Rio just didn’t seem to care about so many of the things that made law school so exciting. 

He had showed zero interest in trying to impress the school’s Board of Visitors, even after Beth had told him that one member was a retired state senator and two more had been circuit court judges. She doubted he would even have bothered to try to meet them if she hadn’t dragged him over to introduce him at the party. 

He never talked about his summer internship. 

Each time he had come to the library over the summer, wearing one of his suits and looking so professional and elegant that she could barely take her eyes off him, she had been dying to ask him for details. She knew for a fact from her research that his internship was one of the most prestigious ones a 1L student could get. 

But he had never seemed in any real rush to get to work. He used to settle in at the drop of a hat, chucking his jacket carelessly to the side and loosening his tie. Like the most important thing in his life was how many napkins they should order for the party and he wasn’t leaving until he got his way over her. 

And now that they were 2Ls, and he was at the top of their class with his rank and his positions on the Moot Court Board and the SBA, and he didn’t seem to care about leveraging any of that either. 

Take the opportunity to compete in external moot court competitions, for example. The school paid for members of the Moot Court Board and their partners to travel to other law schools and participate in the competitions – room, board, entry fees, the works. 

The same competitions were open to non-members like Beth, but she’d have to pay out-of-pocket. She’d never be able to swing it. 

And Rio didn’t even seem to care. When she asked him if he had picked out what competitions he was going to enter, he had rolled his eyes and told her he was “tryin’ not to think about it, darlin’.” 

She just couldn’t understand it. Why didn’t he care? 

\-----

He was right about the breakfast at that café, it was really good. And even though it was early October, it was still warm enough that they could sit at a table outside. 

For their first meeting, Beth deliberately didn’t bring the negotiation binder she had made or the textbook or, God forbid, her copy of _Augustus “Bulldog” Parker’s Seven Golden Rules of Negotiation: Negotiate to WIN!_

Just one measly little notebook and a pen, like she was just here to listen to his offer, like she hadn’t even done any preparation at all. 

The problem was, they were almost through with breakfast. And he still hadn’t mentioned his offer. 

**( _Parker’s First Golden Rule of Negotiation: Never speak first. Never make the first offer._ )**

Wordlessly, she pushed her plate to the side and opened her notebook in front of her carefully, to signal to him that the eating portion of their meeting was over and it was time for the working portion. 

He watched her do it, then pushed his plate aside as well. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out his shoulders, the picture of relaxed contentment. 

She looked at him. 

He looked at her. 

“Well,” she said, holding her pen over the notebook to show him she was ready to write down his offer.

“Well,” he replied, blinking his big brown eyes at her, all totally innocent like they were just here to have a fun little breakfast together, instead of having a serious negotiation of their clients’ respective interests.

“ _Well_?” she prompted, more pointedly.

“ _Well_ what?” he grinned. “You didn’t like it?”

He pointed to her plate. 

She ignored that. She had already told him twice that her hash browns were crispy and the eggs were creamy and delicious. He was just trying to get them off track.

“I’m ready to listen to your offer now.” (Surely it didn’t violate the First Golden Rule to just _remind_ the other party of the status of the negotiation?) 

“Oh that,” he said easily, waving his hand like it was minor point.

Yes, _that_. Why did he think they were here?

“Yeah, see, I gotta lot on my plate right now.”

She looked pointedly down at his plate, which was empty. He laughed when he saw what she was looking at.

“I meant, with _responsibilities_ and shit, Elizabeth. Haven’t had the time to read through all that crap and pull anything together.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. This was just about trying to force her to make the first offer, wasn’t it? 

Well, she refused to do it.

“When _exactly_ are you going to be able to ‘read through all that crap and pull something together’ then?” 

“By our next meeting, Elizabeth, I swear,” he said solemnly, although how serious he actually was was called into question by how theatrically he slapped one big hand over his heart, “It’s my number one top priority.” 

She resisted their whole walk back to school. But when they were almost to Business Associations, she couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Well, just so you know, given that my client’s parents put up the down payment on the house and his salary has been paying the mortgage the last 20 years, he’s not going to consider anything less than 75% of the equity in the house.” 

He moved from her side to face her, walking backwards in front of her through the classroom door. 

He was smiling.

“So…75% of the house is your opening offer?” 

Wait, no, she had just wanted to give him a _parameter_ so he could frame _his_ openingoffer. That way their meeting wouldn’t have been totally unproductive. 

_He_ was supposed to make the opening offer, and _she_ was supposed to counter. But he made it sound like…

“Thanks, Elizabeth, I’ll keep your offer in mind when I prepare my counter.” He turned away and made for his seat before she could respond.

Dammit! 

\-----

Annie decided not to take the GED. 

Her sister had found a full-time job as a cashier and had started picking up double shifts now that Sadie was old enough to leave in day care. Annie told Beth that she just didn’t have enough time to study. 

Beth couldn’t really blame her. Annie was eighteen years old and already a mother. Of course she would want to concentrate on working as much as possible to save money for a place of her own instead of still living with her older sister and brother-in-law. Especially with Dean and Annie getting on each other’s nerves so much lately. 

Annie told her don’t worry. She promised she’d definitely think about taking the GED next summer, when Gregg was home from college and could watch Sadie more. 

Beth carefully boxed up all the GED study guides and the practice tests and the flash cards and the binders she had made. She wanted them to be ready for when Annie needed them again.

Whenever that was. 

\----

“These Horton kids’ names sound damn crazy to you or what? Corabelle, Collinsworth, and Chastity?”

She laughed, “I guess not everyone can be blessed with classic names like Elizabeth and Christopher.” 

He grinned at that and tipped his head, conceding her the point. 

Now was the perfect opportunity to ask him why he went by Rio, Beth thought. 

But she didn’t ask. It just seemed like something he would tell a friend. She knew she wasn’t that.

Besides, she wanted to show him the schedule she had worked out for the children. They had already agreed on how to split up custody over their last two meetings, finally deciding that 25% of the overnights would go to Beth’s client. 

According to her secret Carl Horton fact sheet, that’s actually all he wanted, and, in fact, had been willing to settle for every other weekend and two weeks in the summer. She had let Rio believe she was making a huge concession though and “grudgingly” agreed to 25% in exchange for joint legal custody and an equal split of the children’s first year of college expenses. 

She laid out the schedule in front of him with a little flourish, looking closely at his face to watch his reaction. 

Truly, it was some of her best work. She had divided out the overnights for the entire calendar year with alternating colors, yellow for Carl’s nights, green for Catherine (she had thought about blue and pink, but really, that was both sexist and old-fashioned). 

She assigned each child their own color too and blocked out each day with their respective afterschool activities, doctors’ appointments, and various playdates and social outings she thought would be appropriate. 

“Holy shit, Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, leaning over to study it, “You know these kids ain’t actually real, right?”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Rio. What would I do without you to tell me these things?” she deadpanned. “But, no, seriously, you have to admit it looks better presented in this format instead of just typed out in black-and-white on a piece of paper.” 

He was still looking at the schedule, flipping through each month and examining each page closely.

“Look, I know it’s a little involved, okay?” she told the top of his head, “But this way Professor Katz can _easily_ see that _our kids_ have the best and most well-thought out schedule in the whole class.”

He paused in flipping the pages and looked up at her through his long lashes.

“ _Our_ kids?” he repeated softly, drawing out the word. He made the implication sound like a caress. 

She never flattered herself, either last year or now, that it meant she was special when he looked at her that way or made his voice even deeper than it normally was. He flirted with everyone. Good Lord, sometimes over the summer she would have sworn he was flirting with Ms. Biggs, and she was 75 if she was a day.

“You know what I mean – Corabelle, Collinsworth, and Chastity – the _children_ in _our_ joint Agreement of Divorce,” she said stoutly, like she wasn’t flustered in the slightest.

But she couldn’t hold the eye contact for long. 

“Nah, don’t sweat it, mamí, I knew what you meant,” he said, voice still soft. Then it changed, becoming mock stern, “But hold up here, no way one of _our_ kids is gonna be doin’ _this._ ” 

She tilted her head upside down to see where his finger was stabbing down at something on the schedule. Oh. She had scheduled Collinsworth for fencing lessons, every Monday afternoon from 3-4 pm. 

“What’s wrong with fencing lessons?” she asked, confused, “it’s a very respectable sport!” It had seemed to Beth like the kind of thing the Horton kids would enjoy. 

“You mean the kind of sport only rich white people do.”

She was exasperated. 

“There’s nothing in the fact pattern that says what race Carl and Catherine are!”

“Elizabeth. Please.” He shook his head. “They named their child _Corabelle._ ” 

Well. He had a point there. 

“Bet you anything your little friend Garden took fencing lessons.” 

She rolled her eyes again. Seriously, he should see someone about the _complex_ he had where Gardner was concerned. Like it was Gardner’s fault his father happened to be a judge! (A _federal_ judge.)

“You know very well his name is _Gardner_. And he’s not my _little friend_.” 

“Yeah? You guys were sure all buddy buddy yesterday in the Commons.”

“He just wanted my advice on how to submit an article for publication for _The Student Advocate._ ”

Rio laughed out loud. 

“Sure he did,” he mocked. 

She glared at him. Just because he was _too_ _cool_ to read _The Student Advocate_ didn’t mean other people weren’t. It was a really well-done publication and she wasn’t just saying that because she had been promoted from contributor to staff writer this year! They had actually won fifth place overall as best student-run law school newspaper in the Midwest last year! Why wouldn’t Garden – dammit, _Gardner_ – want to write for it!

She moved to gather up the children’s schedule to pack it away. She could see it now through his eyes. It had been stupid to go so overboard. He probably thought she was crazy. 

But then he put his hand down on the middle of the schedule to stop her. Gently, so none of the papers were crumpled. 

“Change the fencing to baseball, and I’ll agree.”

Beth smiled. She could agree to that. 

\-----

She knew a lot of ways to handle men. 

She hadn’t had much choice except to learn, not with the body puberty had given her and no father and barely a mother to run interference, all starting at age 15.

She defaulted first always to pleasant, polite, and proper. She had learned the hard way that the casual friendliness her sister showed so easily with her guy friends was somehow always taken as flirting when the same thing came from Beth.

With older men who had a little power over her – men like her father-in-law or Professor Kelly, men who liked to forget how inappropriate they were being with someone young enough to be their daughter – she knew how to walk the line perfectly between avoiding giving them any encouragement and still getting as much as she could from the relationship. Pretending not to hear innuendo. Looking away when their eyes lingered too long. Changing the subject innocently when necessary. 

Around boys and men her own age, Dean had been a shield almost half her life. An early, well-timed drop of “my boyfriend” and later “my husband” into the conversation and they were backing off to arm’s length again. 

And with Dean himself, she knew he liked to feel strong and he liked to feel right. Those weren’t hard things to give him. It meant making sacrifices, sure. Delaying law school a few years because he wanted her with him at the dealership. Agreeing to Kalamazoo for vacation when she had had her heart set on Chicago or New York. 

It was worth it to keep Dean happy. So that he’d stay the same dependable presence he’d been since she was 15. Safe and solid and standing between her (and Annie too) and uncertainty. 

Rio was different. In just about every way.

He didn’t treat her the way other men did. 

Yes, she had seen him look her up and down, the way men had been doing to her most of her life. 

But when she talked, he watched her face. Closely, intently, like he was trying to _see_ every word. Even if he was only listening so hard to find ways to out-argue her. 

And she had found that all the things that usually worked so well for her in dealing with men didn’t seem to work on him. Or at least, not reliably. 

She could still get her way, yes. (Sometimes, at any rate. And a couple more times than even he knew about, the party being a prime example.) But it wasn’t always as easy as just opening her eyes wide at him and making sure her voice was full of breathless admiration. Or by bossing him sweetly but firmly like she did with Gregg and Barry Fink and other men she could tell were just looking for a woman to tell them what to do. 

It felt sweeter to beat him than anyone else. Just like losing to him was worse than with anyone else. 

He was annoying. And he infuriated her. (But somehow he was really exciting too.)

\-----

She decided to wait five more minutes. 

They had been supposed to meet at the café at 9 a.m. like always for their negotiation session. 

But then late last night she’d checked her email on Dean’s computer. She’d been trying to get an appointment at the Financial Aid office to talk about her student loans for two weeks. They had finally emailed back, offering Beth a 9:30 a.m. appointment that had opened up due to a cancellation.

She had immediately texted Rio and asked if they could meet at 8 a.m. for their session instead. But there had been no response. (Which was odd, because he was usually a very prompt texter, even if his texts were practically indecipherably cryptic shorthand.)

She had decided to show up at the café at 8 a.m. anyway. Maybe his phone had died before he had a chance to text back. 

It wasn’t like the time was wasted anyway. She had had a chance to go through her Con Law notes and outline her next article for _The Student Advocate_. 

But now it was ten minutes after 9:00 and she was going to be late to her appointment if she didn’t hurry.

She had just started packing up when he walked through the door. 

He made for their table with his phone pressed to his ear. When he was close enough for her to hear him, she was a little taken aback at how clipped and angry he sounded. 

He pulled the chair out across from her and sat down roughly. 

“Sí…Sí...Dije que me encargué de eso, no? Mira, tengo que irme.”

He ended the call and shoved his phone in his hoodie. He took in her dirty breakfast plate pushed to the side and her empty coffee cup and frowned.

“You leavin’? I’m only a few minutes late.”

She felt awkward. His face seemed different than it usually was, set and hard. She wasn’t quite sure how to talk to this Rio, so different from the one she knew. 

“You didn’t get my text? I asked if we could meet an hour earlier because I had a conflict.”

He reached behind him and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He scrolled through his messages. 

“Shit,” he scrubbed his hand over his face, “no, just seein’ it now.”

She stared at the phone in his hand. It looked identical to the one he had shoved in his hoodie.

“You have two phones?” 

The hand rubbing over his eyes stilled, then dropped away to form a fist against the table. He rolled his shoulders and regarded her steadily.

“One’s personal, one’s for work.” He dropped the phone in his back pocket again. 

“I thought your internship was just for the summer?” 

“Yeah,” he said, “I work for my uncle the rest of the year.” 

“Oh really? Doing what?” She was so curious. His job gave him his own work phone? It must be important. 

(And honestly, how old was he to have a job like that? Maybe he was older than she thought. She should just ask him, she knew. But she knew he’d just ask her right back. And what would she say then? Lie that she wasn't about to turn 29? She shied away from the thought.) 

“Import/export-type shit. Distribution, sales, you know the drill.” 

He looked away, like he was too bored to keep talking about it with her. 

It hurt a little that he was so vague. She could understand it, whatever it was. She had minored in Business Administration, after all.

It reminded her of the time over the summer when he had come to the library to research. She had watched him all morning, so intent in his focus, his shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms, contrasting so stark and white against his skin. 

He had been surrounded by different hornbooks and treatises. She had noticed that a couple of the books he had chosen were earlier editions and one was actually (in her opinion) an inferior version of a much better text that she had used to create her Crim Law outline. 

She had stayed close in case he asked for her help to research or what books were best, but he never did. And when she had finally gone over and sat down, to make it easier for him if he wanted her help, he had acted like there was no way she could understand what he was working on. 

Well, she didn’t pry then and she wouldn’t pry now, not if he didn’t want to talk about it. 

She packed up the rest of her things and made to stand up. 

“We got time for me to get an espresso to-go or something before we head to class?” he asked gruffly, then relaxed a little to offer, “I was up all night. Need somethin’ strong if I’m gonna make it through two hours of Smithson today.” 

She looked at him closely. He did look exhausted. 

“Well…why don’t you just skip then? Get some sleep?” she asked, “I could take notes for both of us.” 

He cocked his head.

“Yeah?” He smiled then, his face relaxing gradually all the way back to what was so familiar to her. “And what you want for that, Elizabeth? Another 5% equity in the house? Knock off a year or two of alimony?” 

He was teasing, Beth knew. But it actually hadn’t even occurred to her to condition giving him notes on getting something for their negotiation. 

She had only thought that he looked so tired and she had a way to help. 

(Honestly, Parker would be so disappointed in her – **_Parker’s Sixth Golden Rule of Negotiation: Play the long game. Make moves now to benefit yourself in the end_ **– she’d have to negotiate doubly hard at their next meeting to make up for this.)

“No strings attached,” she said serenely, “unlike _some people_ , I do things out of the goodness of my heart.” 

He laughed. 

“Good one. Okay, for real, can you wait a couple more minutes? I’ll get a ginger tea to go.”

Yes, she could wait a couple more minutes.

\-----

She knew what it was like to be left behind. 

It had happened in high school, when things had first gotten really bad at home, and she’d had to quit her extracurriculars to get an afterschool job and help more with Annie. 

It had happened in college, when their mother had died, and she had had to drop out one month into her sophomore year to come home from Ann Arbor and figure out a job and an apartment and how to file for guardianship of Annie so no-one would think of mentioning the words “foster care” ever again. 

Now it felt like it was happening again. 

It seemed like everyone had spent the summer at exciting internships or law firm jobs. 

She had spent the summer as her husband’s secretary, even if her title was _administrative assistant_. 

And she wasn’t just getting left behind at school. 

Two weeks ago, Ruby had called her from the diner, only halfway through her shift but suddenly completely and certainly sure that she was pregnant. Beth had left the library immediately to head for the diner, only stopping to swing by the drug store to pick up a pregnancy test. 

They had locked themselves in the bathroom for Ruby to take the test, sitting side-by-side on the floor knocking their shoulders together and chattering nervously while they waited for the results.

She was happy for Ruby, truly she was. Down to her bones happy to see Ruby so soft and excited for a baby. 

At the same time, she worried about how much things would change. Stan had always accepted Beth’s place in Ruby’s life so easily. 

But Beth saw how much a baby had shifted her sister’s focus, how seamlessly Annie had switched from viewing Beth as the most important person in her life to her baby.

She wasn’t jealous. She didn’t resent Ruby or Annie for having children. She loved Annie’s baby like her own and knew it would be the same for Ruby’s. 

It still felt like being left behind.

It didn’t help that Ruby and Stan’s news seemed to light a fire in Dean. He had been bringing up the subject of a child of their own more and more over the past year but it kicked into overdrive when he found out Ruby was pregnant. 

A _baby_ of _our own_ , he stressed, and she heard the reminder without him saying it of how he had put up with an 11-year-old sister-in-law who had come as a package deal when he had married Beth and that same sister-in-law’s oops baby seven years later. 

Enough was enough. (He said that part out loud.) 

Dean’s new thing was telling Beth that if they started trying right away, she could give birth over the summer and still finish out her third year in the fall. He seemed to think this was the most persuasive of arguments.

She was even being left behind at the holidays. Annie had asked her if it would be okay if she and the baby went with Gregg’s family to his grandmother’s house in Cleveland. Beth said yes, of course, and tried not to dwell on the fact that it would be the first Thanksgiving since Annie was born that they weren’t together. Ruby and Stan were planning to go visit Stan’s parents in Grand Rapids to break the news about the baby. 

For the first time, it would just be Beth and Dean and his parents for Thanksgiving. 

She told herself she should be happy, that their life as a true married couple was finally starting. 

But all she felt was left behind. 

\-----

The only thing left was the house. 

Child custody and support had been worked out weeks ago.

They had actually agreed surprisingly easily on the division of the retirement and savings accounts – that had only taken a couple sessions in early November. 

(On the other hand, they had spent one whole session alone on who got the family’s boat, which was ridiculous because it had been a gift from Carl’s parents directly to him, which should have made it separate property that was his alone. But Rio had been absolutely dogged in disagreeing though. Beth suspected it was only because he was personally offended by how cheesy the boat’s name was.)

They had even _finally_ agreed on how to work out the fact that Catherine Horton hadn’t worked in 20 years yet somehow still had a chunk of debt and no prospects for any high-paying job after the divorce was final. Beth was still bitterly upset that she’d had to agree to split Catherine’s college debt equally in return for a reduction in alimony payments. Who went back to college after fifteen years as a stay-at-home mother only to get a degree in Medieval French Literature with a minor in Sonnets? This woman was a piece of work. 

Now all that was left was the house.

“You’re kidding, right?” he scoffed, rousing himself from his slouch long enough to reach across the table and take one of her blueberries. 

“Not at all. 50/50 of the equity is very fair. You can’t possibly expect me to agree to only 35 percent when my client’s parents paid the down payment and he’s the _only_ one who ever paid the mortgage.” 

She ignored the blueberry-stealing (with difficulty) since she knew he was just doing it to get her off-track. 

He grinned and shook his head in mock disbelief. 

“Damn, Elizabeth, that’s cold. So she stays home and raises his kids for 20 years and that ain’t got any dollar amount attached to it?” 

“Of course it does. And that’s 50% of the equity. Which is _generous_.” 

A calculating expression spread across this face.

“And what about all his little girlfriends?”

She willed herself not to react. Their common fact sheet said that Catherine had filed for divorce when she had caught Carl in bed with his hygienist. But Beth’s secret fact sheet said it was Carl’s fifth affair in the last eight years. 

“That was one time.”

He laughed. 

“Please. That was _the_ one time she caught him. Bet there are a dozen more. Pretty sure your client don’t want to go through a trial and have all that come out.”

(That was exactly what Carl Horton didn’t want.)

“Please,” she said dismissively, “that’s both speculation and irrelevant. Besides, Michigan is a no-fault state. So trying to trump up some “adultery” nonsense is going to get you nowhere.” 

“Sure, no-fault as far as for grounds for granting the divorce itself. But the judge can still consider fault when dividing assets. Pretty sure your client don’t want a parade of co-eds on the witness stand talking ‘bout how he banged ‘em on the stupid fuckin’ _Sea is for Carl_ in the middle of Lake St. Clair.”

She frowned. So vulgar. 

But she didn’t let it derail her.

“That’s all baseless. But if we _really_ want to start discussing fault, I’m pretty sure _your client_ doesn’t want to discuss her little drinking problem on the stand and how it contributed to the breakdown of the marriage.” 

His left eyelid twitched a little.

She hid her smile. Their common fact sheet had only said Catherine Horton had been diagnosed with depression. It had been a shot in the dark. But Beth had had a hunch based on looking over some of their expenses. 

He considered her, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then he smiled – the charming one that he always used on the barista to get the biggest muffin – and clapped his hands a little.

“Okay, okay, Elizabeth, this has been fun. Let’s say 55% for my client, 45% for yours and just call it a day, yeah?” 

She could accept 45%. Her Carl Horton secret fact sheet said he’d settle for as low as 40% of the equity in the house. 

But she didn’t _want_ to accept it. She wanted the 50%. 

No-one ever told Rio no. She wanted to be the one who did.

**_Parker’s Seventh Golden Rule of Negotiation:_ _Know your bottom line. And always be prepared to walk away._ **

“50/50 or no deal,” she replied.

“Now now Elizabeth,” he cajoled, “remember – we can’t work this shit out, we have to take the final exam.”

“Yes, Rio, I do remember Professor Katz saying that. I think I even wrote it down.” 

He didn’t like the condescension in her tone. She could tell. She didn’t care. 

He stopped smiling and sat up straighter. 

“ _Pretty_ sure everyone else in the class has already finished. You wanna be the only two who couldn’t come to an agreement?”

She shrugged.

“You’d actually throw away a whole semester’s worth of work over 5%?”

She shrugged. 

“I’m not worried about taking another final,” she told him.

“Oh me neither, darlin’.”

“Okay, then I guess we’re done here.” She started to pack up her things. 

He huffed out a laugh. 

“That’s not gonna work, Elizabeth.”

She paused in packing up to smile at him kindly.

“Rio, Rio, Rio. I could go take that final right now and still get an A.”

Which, she would _never_. The thought of taking a final exam without putting in all her usual studying time was _unthinkable._ (She was already mentally rearranging her schedule for the next three weeks to fit in the extra 60 hours of studying she’d need for the Family Law final.) 

But he didn’t have to know that.

“Me too,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss her.

“Maybe,” she allowed, “But if we’re the only two taking it, Professor Katz still has to grade to the curve. That means one of us gets a C and the other gets the A. I’m betting I get the A.” 

He leaned all the way forward across the table on his elbows, clasping his hands together close to hers. 

She quickly pulled her hands back to her lap and forced herself not to look at his. She wouldn’t be distracted by his hands this time. 

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “what you gonna do if you get the C though? I’m not the one obsessed with all this grades and class rank shit.”

She looked him dead in the eye ( _he really did have such beautiful eyes_ ) and knew her face was betraying nothing.

“You’re right,” she replied, just as softly, “but _you_ care too. I know you do. So it’s either 50/50 on the house or you take the risk of getting a C and tanking your average. You pick.” 

She found herself holding her breath. She really did have no idea what he’d do. But no way she would back down.

The silence went on and on as they sat there staring at each other. It seemed to Beth like the world had narrowed down to just their little table. 

“Okay,” he finally said, “Let’s make a real deal then? 50/50 split.”

“In return for what?” she asked cautiously. 

“I pick a class for you next semester and you gotta take it, no matter what.” 

What.

She blinked.

That was completely outside their assignment. There was nothing in any of Professor Katz’s materials about offering or accepting anything other than something of Carl’s or Catherine’s. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to do that.

On the other hand.

**( _Parker’s Fourth Golden Rule of Negotiation: Think outside the box - what you can offer and what you will accept. Get to YES however possible._ _)_ **

Really though, why was he like this? The only thing that should surprise her about this was that he didn’t dare her to do something like stand on her chair in the middle of the café and meow like a cat. 

Beth knew that if she agreed, he was going to make his class pick be just as embarrassing as possible. Probably try to torment her with something like Sports Law (notorious among the female law students since it was taught by Professor Gregson, a former sports agent who liked to go into excruciating detail about all the paternity suits he had “beaten” for his superstar clients). 

But. Who cared. She could still get an A. She might even learn something.

 _Anything_ for the satisfaction to see him cave.

“Deal,” she said, holding out her hand across the table for him to shake. 

“Deal,” he replied, taking her hand gently and shaking it firmly.

He held her hand a little too long before letting it go though and it almost looked like he was smiling. He was probably thinking of how bad she would do in Sports Law or something. 

Well, let him think it, she had still won. 

She wondered if now was the time to tell him she could have gone as low as 40%. But she decided to save it. To really get the maximum impact out of dropping that little bomb on him for some time when he was being _really_ annoying. 

Knowing him (and she did), it would only be a matter of time. 

\-----

The semester was almost over.

Beth was looking over their final Agreement of Divorce while she waited for the last Law Review meeting of the semester to start. She wanted to take one more editing pass-through to make sure it was perfect before she turned it in to Professor Katz. 

“You and Rio haven’t turned that in yet?” 

Beth looked up to see Courtney peering over her shoulder, looking down at the agreement spread out in front of her. 

She didn’t like the faint judgment in Courtney’s tone. (And she didn’t like the way Courtney said “Rio.” Like his name was hers to own.) 

Still, Beth made herself smile. She never knew when she might need Courtney’s support in a future election or for some SBA or Law Review matter.

“Well, we only had our last negotiation meeting this week.” 

“You guys met more than once?” 

Beth blinked. Of course they had met more than once. 

**( _Parker’s Second Golden Rule of Negotiation: A good deal takes patience. Make the time to negotiate._ )**

“Three or four times, I think” Beth lied smoothly, “but we had a lot to go over with our particular fact pattern.” 

Courtney was looking at her curiously. 

“I bet that’s, like, double what everyone else did.” 

Beth didn’t know how to respond to that. Surely other groups met multiple times as well? 

“You don’t really think Katz is even going to look at these things, do you? He just wants an excuse not to grade 60 finals,” Courtney continued, laughing, “Or to scare us straight so we’re not morons getting married at 23 like he did.”

Beth ground her teeth, but kept her smile. She had gotten married at 21. God, Courtney was just such a _bitch_.

And what did she even know about anything? 

Beth smiled to dismiss her and went back to editing. 

Courtney’s problem was that she just wasn’t thorough. No wonder Beth hadn’t seen her studying with Rio in the library or in the study rooms anymore.

On the spur of the moment, Beth decided it would be best to take _two_ editing pass-throughs of the Agreement, instead of just one. 

She smiled in satisfaction. 

That right there was the difference between her and Courtney.

\-----

Finals were over. They had just had their last one – Con Law – that afternoon. 

Beth sat at home alone, sipping another bourbon and thinking. 

It was her anniversary too. She and Dean had plans to go downtown for dinner, then back home to “be alone for once” as Dean had put it when she asked what he wanted for a gift. Gregg was home from Michigan State for Winter Break and Annie had gone to spend the night at his parents’ house so they could have time with the baby. 

Rio hadn’t asked her to come out to the bar after their final exam, like he had last semester.

Not that she could’ve gone anyway. She was waiting for Dean to text that he was done down at the dealership so she could grab a cab and head downtown to meet him. 

She considered. She was pretty sure the happy hour plan was to meet at Finnegan’s, the Irish pub around the corner from campus. She had heard several people talking about it before the Con Law final. 

Finnegan’s wasn’t far from the restaurant Dean wanted to go to.

She texted Rio quickly before she could lose her nerve. 

_Are you guys still out celebrating?_

The response came right away.

_yea whats up_

She typed back - _Will you be out long?_

She nibbled on her lip while she waited. 

His response came – _yea_ – and then a few seconds later – _u need something?_

She considered how to put it. Decided it was best just to say it straight out. 

_Can we talk? I can come meet you out?_

She slid her phone back and forth while she waited. Refused to look at it until it buzzed again.

_luckys in 20 min_

Lucky’s? Not Finnegan’s? The plans must have changed. She was glad she had texted him first and not just shown up at Finnegan’s hoping he would be there. 

She had to get a move on. She called a cab, then tapped out a text to Dean to tell him she had to meet a law school friend quickly but she’d be downtown already so text her when he was done. 

When she walked into Lucky’s twenty minutes later, she was confused. It had always sounded like most of their Section went to these happy hours to celebrate the last final being done. She had expected it to be packed. 

But Rio was alone at the bar.

He pulled out the stool next to him as he watched her walk up and she sat down beside him.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Back at the pub.”

She was confused all over again. Then why hadn’t he just told her to come meet him at Finnegan’s?

She looked at his face closely. He had clearly had a few but he didn’t seem drunk. She had been afraid he would be and that he wouldn’t take what she was going to say seriously.

She shrugged off her coat and arranged it on the hook under the bar to buy herself some time. 

When she turned back to him, she saw he was staring at her outfit, running his eyes up and down from her bare arms to her too-high heels. 

She was wearing Dean’s favorite dress, emerald green with a full skirt to the knee, cut low and tight around her breasts. A little too fancy for where they planned to go to dinner, but she wanted Dean in a good mood tonight. 

She planned to tell him that she wasn’t coming back to the dealership, not over Winter Break and not this summer either. 

It was a _lot_ too fancy for Lucky’s though. 

“I’m headed to dinner next. It’s my anniversary,” she explained, so he wouldn’t think she was such a dork that she thought this was what people wore to the happy hours. 

He nodded and looked away, as though the subject bored him. 

“So what did you want to talk to me about,” he said, when he looked back.

She took a breath and cleared her throat. 

Then she laid out it all out for him, argument by argument, point by point, just like she had been practicing in her head. 

The Moot Court Board required all its members to compete in at least one external competition every year. And unlike the 1L competition, upperclass and external competitions had two people on each side. And the competitions always had a writing component, where each team was required to submit a brief and be judged on the quality of their research and writing, not just on their oral argument. 

He hadn’t been in a competition this semester. That meant he’d have to compete in the spring. He’d need another person.

She was on Law Review. She had gotten the highest grade in Legal Writing in their whole Section their first semester. She could research and do most of the writing on a brief. All of the writing even. 

They could pick whichever competition he wanted, she didn’t mind which one. The Moot Court Board would pay for both of them to go. They’d have such a good chance of doing well together. He could put it on his resume. Really, it was just a win-win situation any way you looked at it.

He listened. He didn’t interrupt or look away once. Just chewed on his lip, tilting his head thoughtfully, watching her face the whole time.

“So...you saying you want to be partners?” he asked, when she had finally finished.

“Yes.” Partners. She had been thinking of it as being on the same team, but _partners_ sounded so much better.

Her phone buzzed from where she had placed it on the bar. They both looked down at it. 

_Dean_ , the screen announced. She reached out quickly to silence it.

She felt half-desperate to hear what he would say.

“Why you even want to do all this moot court shit anyway?” he asked curiously, “you got Law Review, SBA, your grades, your fancy job. You don’t need it.” 

How could she make him understand. 

She knew it wasn’t logical, that wanting this didn’t make sense. 

But the missed competition their first year still loomed so large in her mind. It lived there as a reminder. Of something that felt like it had been taken away from her. Of one more thing she had missed out on. 

If she could do this – and do it well – it meant that maybe there was still a chance that she could have everything. That she hadn’t been passed by. That Professor Rose was wrong – Beth wouldn’t have to choose and then always be disappointed. Like she had so many times before. 

He’d never understand any of that.

“I just want it,” she said, finally. 

The silence stretched. 

When he still didn’t say anything, her throat grew tight with embarrassment. 

Of course he didn’t need her help – and he had never wanted it either. Not once. He hadn’t wanted help with his Legal Writing their first year, he had gone to Courtney instead. He hadn’t asked for her help researching, over the summer. 

He hadn’t even wanted her help in putting his books away, that day in the library.

Her phone buzzed again and, for once, she blessed Dean for giving her the excuse she needed to run away.

“I have to go. Don’t even worry about it, it was just an idea,” she said, to save face. 

She hurriedly pulled her coat on and slid off her stool. She was halfway to the door when she realized with acute embarrassment that he was following her out. 

“I’ll get you a cab,” he said, when they got outside. He raised his arm and whistled at one stopped at the red light down the street. 

They waited silently at the curb while the icy wind whipped around them. She shivered and burrowed down further in her coat. 

“Here,” he said, pulling his gray scarf from around his neck.

He ignored her half-hearted protest when she realized what he meant to do, just started winding it round and round her neck. He didn’t stop until the scarf ran out and it was bundled halfway up her face all the way past her nose. 

Even as awkward as she still felt, she couldn’t help but laugh. He just looked so playful as he grinned down at her, clearly pleased to see her wrapped up like a burrito.

She tried to speak, but it came out all muffled through the thick layers of cashmere. 

“Hold up,” Rio said. He carefully pushed the scarf down until it was just below her chin. Then he gently tugged her hair out all around from where it was trapped underneath. 

“There,” he said, as he arranged her hair, “Now what were you sayin’?” 

“Won’t you need it?” she asked, half-hoping he’d say no. It was so warm and soft and it smelled so strongly like him. She wanted to bury her nose in it forever. 

The cab pulled up to the curb. He looked over at it, then back to her. Then he lifted his hand and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, the back of his fingers brushing down her check. 

“You can give it back to me next semester… _partner_.” 

Partner? 

Could that mean? 

Did it mean he was agreeing?

He smiled down at her and nodded at her expression, and she knew that it did. 

She beamed. So relieved and happy that for a second she almost threw her arms around him. 

She backed away towards the cab, not breaking eye contact until she felt the door handle behind her and had to turn to climb in.

 _Partner_. 

The whole ride to the restaurant to meet Dean, Beth felt like she was being lit up from within. 

_Here we go_ , she thought, exhilarated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in getting this up. Random personal story that no-one cares about but this brought back shaky anxiety flashbacks of the time I was paired against this kid in my class for a negotiation assignment and he never brought a notebook or pen and just stared dead-eyed at me across the table and said "no" simply to every offer without giving any explanation or actually ever countering. It was chilling, and very effective. (I should look that kid up and see if he's conquered some small country yet.) I also found a couple typos in a previous chapter and then I had to go lie down for another two weeks in shame. But hopefully I am back on track so thank you to everyone still reading!


	6. 2L - Spring Semester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's better than one moot court competition on top of everything the second year of law school can throw at you? Answer: Two competitions, of course! Go big or go home.

Rio thought it would be like pulling teeth to find out what classes Elizabeth was taking for the spring semester, but it actually turned out to be pretty easy.

Elizabeth had annoyed him most of last summer by refusing to answer one simple damn question about what classes she was taking for the fall. Instead she had acted like it was top-secret information that he had no business knowing.

So it had just felt really fucking satisfying to pick the same classes, then watch her face when she realized they were in all the same ones. 

It served her right for being so stubborn all the time.

(Although, obviously it wasn’t like he was crazy enough to pick classes just because _she_ was taking them. He was in law school for a reason after all, and that reason wasn’t to mess around with Elizabeth, no matter how much fun it was to do it. She just picked good electives, that was all. He had confirmed as much with Gretchen who had pointed out that they were all good prep for the bar exam. So, if he was gonna have to take all them anyway, why not take them now? If Elizabeth had picked something weird, he wouldn’t have picked it too. Simple as that.)

But over the fall semester, Elizabeth’d gotten a lot better at protecting her various binders and notebooks, including any information about her spring semester class choices. 

He suspected it was because she had been afraid he was trying to look at her “Attorney’s Eyes Only Secret Fact Sheet” (as she insisted on calling it every single fucking time) for their Family Law negotiation assignment. 

That had confused the hell out of him. Everyone knew Katz had only made up that bullshit assignment to get out of grading any finals while he was going through his divorce. Most people Rio’d talked to had already compared their fact sheets and had found them all pretty much the same (equally “damaging” personal information on both sides, each spouse wanting 60% of the marital assets but willing to settle as low as 40%, blah blah blah). 

All you had to do to ace the assignment was meet in the middle for your final “deal,” write it up, and you’d be set. 

But Elizabeth either hadn’t known that or hadn’t cared, and as a result had guarded _all_ her little papers fiercely. 

Again, it had been really annoying. 

So he was flying a little blind as to what classes were on the table for their spring semester. 

(Although, again, it wasn’t like he was just gonna copy her choices blindly. It just made more sense to let Elizabeth do all the legwork to figure out the best choices, then get the benefit of her research. It was all about delegation.) 

The only class he knew for sure that she was taking was the feminist seminar one, since he got to pick one class for her to take as a result of winning their negotiation. 

He texted her his choice the day after Christmas, partly because he was dying to find out her reaction and partly because it had been over a week since he had met her at the bar after their last final or talked to her. 

He didn’t want her backing out on honoring their little deal or try to wiggle out by saying she had already picked her classes. 

It was almost midnight but she texted back immediately.

_Do you mean the Feminist Legal Theory Seminar?_

Then on its heels came – _That Professor Michel is teaching?_

Then a few seconds later – _On Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2 pm?_

He rolled his eyes. She was acting like “that feminist class” was some kinda indecipherable code. There was literally only one “feminist class” offered on the entire course catalog. 

_yea,_ he texted back. 

Her response came quick.

_Okay, I’ll sign up for it as soon as enrollment opens next Monday. That means we’re even now. You can’t change your mind and decide to pick something else._

He grinned as he read her response. So suspicious, all the time. And acting like _she_ was doing _him_ a favor, when he knew for a fact that was the elective she had wanted to take the most. 

He slipped his phone back in his pocket to focus on what he was doing.

He was with Mick and his crew at a warehouse just outside the city, overseeing the delivery of a shipment from across the border. The product was pure and in bulk, so it would need to be cut, then broken into smaller batches and delivered to their dealers for distribution at the street-level. 

They’d done handoffs like this a hundred times. But that didn’t mean something couldn’t go south in a hurry. He’d have beaten the shit out of any of his boys who he saw texting and fucking around instead of paying attention.

But then his phone buzzed again. He pulled it back out.

_By the way, how are you planning out what classes to take this semester? Are you basing it on what’s going to be on the bar exam?_

He squinted at her message. The bar was a year and a half away. Was that a joke? 

He had learned the hard way though that Elizabeth didn’t really joke around over text. 

_got a pros & cons list_, he wrote back, just to fuck with her.

 _Can I see it?_ came her response before he even had time to put his phone away again. And then before he could answer (she didn’t really think he was serious with that, did she?) came – _I’ll show you mine if you want?_

He shook his head as he read it. 

On the one hand, yes, of course he wanted to see whatever crazy criteria Elizabeth had come up with this semester because it was sure to be funny. 

On the other hand, he knew she’d probably insist on him giving her his “list” first and it wasn’t like he had the time or the patience to come up a fake list just to have something to exchange with her. 

Why did she have to make everything so difficult? 

_its all in my head sweetheart_ , he typed back. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mick looking over at him.

Elizabeth ignored the _sweetheart_ like he knew she would. 

_You’re definitely going to sign up for Business Formations though, right? To follow up on Business Associations from last semester?_

Actually, he had thought about taking Business Formations. And not only because Elizabeth had mentioned it all confused and shit last semester when she saw him in their Business Associations class. After he’d looked into it, he’d realized it would be a natural continuation of all the boring business theory shit with real world stuff he could actually use. 

_prob yea_ , he texted back.

He wondered why she was still up so late texting and not in bed asleep. 

Although, maybe she was actually in bed? 

It wasn’t the first time he had pictured Elizabeth in a bed (not anywhere close), but he pushed that thought away immediately as too distracting now. He already had enough to deal with here, not the least of which being Mick fake clearing his throat to get him to look up from his phone. 

Rio looked up long enough to check everything was still running smoothly and to give Mick a “this is important so fuck off for one second” look. 

In the interim, Elizabeth had texted back a fucking novel. 

_I was also thinking about Criminal Procedure (but with Prof. Rooney instead of Prof. Baker)_. _It could come in really handy if we choose a moot court competition that has a criminal topic? I’ve already found a bunch of schools that posted their fact patterns online and at least half are criminal. Plus I thought Prof. Rooney was really good for Crim Law last year. Don’t you think?_

He nodded to himself. Yeah, that made sense about the competition thing. And she was right, Rooney had been a good professor and Crim Pro sounded interesting as shit as a subject. 

_yea_ , he texted back.

 _Good_ , she wrote, then, _So are you thinking about taking Professional Responsibility this semester or next semester?_

She followed that up immediately with _They say it’s better to take it now in our second year._

Who was “they” and what was she talking about? 

While he was still puzzling that out, she texted again. 

_That way we can take the MPRE this summer instead of putting it off until after third year which would mean having to study for the bar exam AND the MPRE at the same time, you know?_

Oh right. The MPRE – it stood for Multiple Professional Responsibility Ethics or something like that. It was some big test that made up the ethics portions of the bar exam. He vaguely remembered Gretchen bitching about having to take it a couple summers back. 

_right_ , he texted back, so she’d know she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. 

Mick coughed again. 

Rio shot him a dirty look. Just because Mick couldn’t do two things at once didn’t mean he couldn’t. 

_So we’ll take Criminal Procedure (with Prof. Rooney), Professional Responsibility, and Business Formations?_

He smiled at the _we’ll._

(And they’d be taking the feminist class together too, but she didn’t know that yet. He’d wait to spring that on her when he walked into class, just to see her face.)

_yea those sound good. elizabeth i gotta go_

_Okay. Remember that registration opens next Monday. And Merry Christmas!_

_merry xmas_ he texted back.

Satisfied, he put his phone away and turned his attention back to business, giving Mick a pointed “you happy now?” look. 

As for himself, he _was_ happy. That was way less hassle than he had thought it would be to figure out what classes Elizabeth was taking. 

It really was getting easier to manage her.

\-----

The fact that the Moot Court Board required all its members to participate in one external competition a year to maintain membership was a true pain in the ass. 

It was bad enough that Board members were required to participate in the school’s own internal Upperclass Competition in the spring – either by helping organize and run it or competing in it. 

But then to have to actually spend a weekend (way more than that even, if you counted prep time and drafting the damn brief) trekking to some _other_ school to do _another_ competition? 

Jesus.

Rio had avoided it all fall semester. Had even halfway considered just saying fuck it and not even doing it like he’d done when he’d gotten the invitations to be on the journals. 

But not doing it meant he’d be kicked off the Board. And while he didn’t give a shit about that in and of itself, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Gretchen. 

Plus, getting kicked off’d mean the end of being on the SBA as the Board’s representative and the end of getting to mess with Elizabeth at the SBA Meetings. And that was just way too much fun to give up. 

So when he knew he couldn’t put it off much longer, he had talked to another Board member who also hadn’t done an external competition yet for the year. 

Mike Goldman was a 3L with his Third Year Practice Certificate who was working almost full-time with the public defender. Goldman also thought most of this moot court stuff was pointless but wanted to maintain his Moot Court Board membership in case it came in handy after graduation for networking and shit. 

The two of them made a vague plan to find an external competition in the spring at the closest school around, preferably with an easy topic and a written brief requirement of 15 pages or less, just to get it all over with. 

Then Elizabeth had asked him to meet.

She had never texted him before unless it involved some dumb school thing. 

But classes had been done, their last final over. Rio had stared at his phone, confused and feeling drunker than he actually was. He had tried to think what she might want. 

The happy hour had raged around him at Finnegan’s, smoky and loud with half the 2L class out celebrating the end of the semester. 

But Elizabeth hadn’t shown any interest in coming to Finnegan’s, even though people had been talking about it all around them before their last final had started. 

So he had told her to meet him at Lucky’s. She had seemed to like it there that night first year when he had seen her and her friend there together. It was more of a weekend place anyway, so he knew it’d be quiet too. 

When Elizabeth had sat down and taken off her coat, he had had the half-drunk thought that she looked like a Christmas present with her green dress and gold shoes and hair shining more red than blonde in the low light of the bar. 

She obviously hadn’t expected to meet at a deserted dive bar. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted to leave and go somewhere else, maybe get something to eat.

But then she had brought up the husband and obviously that was the reason for all of it. The dress, the hair, the perfume he kept catching hints of every time she shifted closer. 

It had been dumb to even consider anything different.

Then Elizabeth had started talking.

She had laid it out for him like she was trying to sell him something. Which, he supposed, she had been. Selling him on the idea of them as partners. 

He had studied her face while she talked, how animated she was, alternating between serious and playful and earnest as she cycled through all the various reasons why they would “make a good team.” 

Some of the arguments she had seemed to consider so persuasive had baffled him. (For real, why did she seem so fixated on what he could be putting on his resume? He didn’t even _have_ a resume.) 

But the rest of them were on point. 

Every moot court competition had a written brief requirement, which was the thing he had been dreading the most in having to go through with this shit. She was the best writer in the class, probably the best at researching as well. With her involved in drafting the brief, they’d have a leg up in any competition they entered. 

And he thought she’d probably be good at the argument part too. He’d seen her on the hot seat in class often enough, answering tough questions and coming up with shit on her feet. 

And man, she really turned it on if someone ever challenged her or interrupted her. One time in Crim Law she had just about made some little guy cry when he had tried to correct her. It had been pretty sweet to watch. 

Since Rio could actually think things through, _unlike Elizabeth_ , he could see right off the bat that agreeing to be partners was gonna mean so much fucking work and time. Time he really didn’t have a lot of, with everything else he had going on. 

If he stuck to his original plan to partner with Mike Goldman, he knew him and Mike were both cool with doing the minimum to get through it. 

But no way in hell it would be like that with Elizabeth for a partner.

Still, he had known he was gonna say yes from the second he had understood what she wanted. 

But he had waited to hear her out. Because he just didn’t get it. 

She had skipped the moot court competition their first year. Hadn’t even shown up. Then had never mentioned or referred to it again. No explanation, no nothing. 

It still made him angry to think about how he had waited in that quiet classroom for her on the morning of the competition. And how she had shouted in his face when he had seen her next. 

Why did she want it so bad now?

And then suddenly it had seemed like Elizabeth didn’t give a shit _now_ either because as soon as she had finished her pitch, her phone had been buzzing. From the husband. 

And then she hadn’t been able to get out of the bar fast enough. Telling him to forget about it, like it was just a dumb little idea she had come up with on the spot, to kill time before her little anniversary date. 

He probably should have just let her go. Kept to his original plan with Goldman. He didn’t need the hassle.

But she had said she wanted it. 

So he had followed her out. 

And when he had said the word _partner_ to her, she had smiled so big and bright, it felt like looking at a fucking Christmas tree. 

As she drove off in the cab, he pulled out his phone to text Goldman and tell him he’d have to find another partner. 

\-----

It took Rio awhile to notice it, but once he did, he saw it everywhere. 

Elizabeth had little minions. And she used them to do her dirty work.

He’d first started catching on in an SBA meeting last semester. He’d been slouched in his chair, bored out of his mind, when he had felt Elizabeth sit up a little straighter next to him. When he had lolled his head to the side to inspect her, he’d found her staring intently across the room at Michael Chang, her alternate.

Chang had proposed that the SBA Bylaws be “amended” to “clarify an ambiguity.” The proposed change made it clear that the elected SBA members outranked the appointed SBA members. 

Rio had to give Elizabeth credit. Although that pointless little power play had her fingerprints all over it, she had kept quiet during the discussion. It was only since he knew her so well he had even started suspecting anything. 

But when the SBA President – _another_ little dude Elizabeth seemed to have in her pocket – had seconded Chang’s motion and a couple other (elected) members stood to speak in support of it – all glancing over quickly to Elizabeth – Rio had known for sure she was behind it. 

He had heard through the grapevine that similar shit was happening over on Law Review, although since he wasn’t actually on Law Review and didn’t give a crap what they did, it was much easier to laugh when he overheard Courtney complaining at happy hours about how Elizabeth was “taking over.” 

Their first year, Elizabeth had seemed separated from the rest of their class. She participated like crazy in pointless SBA shit, sure, but had stayed remote, almost stiff somehow, even while doing it. She had never gone to any of the happy hours. Never joined in when people sat around shooting the shit before class started. 

He wouldn’t say she was surrounded by friends this year, either. Still didn’t go to happy hours. He never saw her laughing or smiling with anyone with even one bit of that easiness she had had with her friend Ruby. 

But people definitely did what she said. Wanted her opinion on things. Looked to her for approval. 

It impressed him.

\-----

They were barely two weeks into the semester when Elizabeth called a meeting to discuss what external moot court competition they should enter. 

She had actually used those exact words in her text, that she wanted “to call a meeting.” Why they couldn’t just talk about it over text or on the phone or before class or after class (or even _during_ class over instant message if she would just ever stop being so stubborn and get a laptop) was beyond him, but he humored her.

They met at their café before their morning Crim Pro class. 

After breakfast, Elizabeth ceremoniously cleared her throat and leaned down to the enormous wheeled bag she still insisted on carting everywhere. 

She pulled out two identical black binders and solemnly presented him with one. 

_External Moot Court Competitions Research_ read the neat little hand-lettered tag on the front. 

“Damn it. I was expectin’ a PowerPoint,” he said, mock seriously.

“I thought about it,” she replied, thoughtfully, the sarcasm sailing over her head like it so often did, “but I think this format lends itself better to conveying all the necessary information. And this way we both have our own copies of the research to refer back to later.”

He was charmed against his will that she had actually made him his own binder. (Although seriously what the fuck was he going to do with this huge awkward binder after this “meeting” – did she expect him to save it? To keep it in his apartment? He wouldn’t put either past her.)

He started flipping through the pages. 

It looked like she had created summaries of every moot court competition offered at every law school in the Midwest – information on the law schools’ ranks, the competitions’ topics, the page requirements of the written briefs, average number of entrants for past competitions, distance from Detroit, everything. 

Even knowing all he did about Elizabeth’s dedicated commitment to compiling hundreds of pages of “research” into binders, he was still taken aback. 

It was some next level shit. 

She gave him some time to absorb it all, sipping her coffee quietly.

As soon as he looked up though, she launched straight into her “impressions” and “initial thoughts” of the different competitions.

He figured out pretty quick that she wanted him to pick the competition hosted by the University of Michigan in mid-April. Not that she came out and said that, specifically, no. But every other competition she gave her little overview on always ended up having more “cons” than “pros.” And each time, she steered the conversation back to the competition at U of M as a shining contrast.

He felt like he was missing something. 

When Elizabeth had pitched the whole partner thing initially, she had seemed into the fact that the Moot Court Board would pay all their travel expenses, including hotel rooms. 

(He’d been pretty into the whole hotel room thing himself too.)

But Ann Arbor wasn’t even an hour’s drive away. If they chose that competition, they wouldn’t need a hotel.

“Hold up, what about this one at Drake?” he asked, pointing down to that tab in the binder. Des Moines was at least an eight-hour car ride. They’d have to stay in a hotel overnight. Maybe even make a weekend of it. 

She flipped to that page, then made a little face. 

“The fact pattern for this Drake one sounds so boring though – copyright infringement. Yech.” She gave a theatrical little shudder. “I just think you’d like the University of Michigan one so much better.” 

He was amused and a little intrigued. Why couldn’t she ever just come straight out and say what she wanted?

“Oh yeah?” he asked, trying to feel out this little game they were playing.

“Yes, _definitely_ ,” she told him eagerly, “the Michigan problem involves illegal drugs recovered during a supposed invalid search and seizure under the Fourth Amendment – I think it’s just right up your alley!” 

“Yeah? Why’s that?” 

It came out sharper than he meant it to. One of his uncle’s guys was up on felony possession with intent to distribute charges. The poor bastard had been collared with almost 500 grams on him, meaning he was looking at up to 30 years in prison unless they could get the search thrown out. Gretchen had spent an hour last Sunday telling him all about the motion to suppress she was researching for her father. 

Elizabeth faltered at his tone, her peppy cheerleader voice fading off a little. “I just thought you’d prefer a criminal law problem? Because of your internship last year? And how well you did in Professor Rooney’s class?” 

He forced himself to relax. Obviously Elizabeth didn’t know shit about the cases Gretchen and her father handled for the business. Or anything else at all about what business he was in. 

“Yeah, okay, makes sense,” he flipped through a few more pages, “then what ‘bout this one at Wisconsin in early March? Looks like it’s a criminal fact pattern too.” 

She seemed to already know exactly which one he meant without even having to look in her own binder. 

“Madison’s almost a seven-hour drive away though.” 

“And?” He could just picture Elizabeth on their road trip with a little cooler of snacks and color-coded rankings of all the best rest stops.

“Well,” she hesitated, then barreled forward in a rush, “it’s the same weekend as the Barristers’ Ball. If we did that one, we wouldn’t get back in time.” 

The Barristers’ Ball? He stared at her curiously. She was worried about that thing? 

The Barristers’ Ball was mockingly known as “Law Student Prom.” It was lame. Definitely nothing worth missing something actually halfway important for. He’d be willing to skip it in a heartbeat.

“You plannin’ on going to that this year?” he asked. 

“Well, yes, I was thinking about it. You went last year, right?”

Yeah, everybody went – he had gone himself with Courtney last year. 

But Elizabeth hadn’t gone last year, and he couldn’t see why’d she want to go now. 

He made one last try.

“Okay, what’s wrong with this one at U of Cincy then? A criminal problem, it’s in mid-March so we won’t have to miss _Prom_ , the Moot Court Board can put us up in some fancy hotel with room service, and oh look, Elizabeth,” he mimicked her sing-song peppy tone from before as he read from the competition brochure in the binder, “‘a once-in-a-lifetime chance to compete at Ohio’s oldest law school!’ Holy shit!”

He could see she wanted to laugh, but she stopped herself just in time. He still counted that as a win though.

“Unfortunately, that one’s the same weekend as the intramural Upperclass Competition here at school.” 

“So?” Once again, he didn’t see the problem. 

“Don’t you have to help run that competition as a member of the Moot Court Board?”

Shit. Yeah. He scrubbed his hand over his face. It really never ended with all this moot court bullshit. 

“Hmmm, you know…”

He dropped his hand to look at her. Then narrowed his eyes at what he saw. 

Her face was composed, all slow thoughtfulness and careful hesitation, as though an idea was just occurring to her. 

But he could see the calculation in her eyes.

“Moot Court Board members have the option of either helping run an intramural competition or competing in one, right?”

He could suddenly see exactly where this was headed.

“Yeah,” he said, as though he wasn’t well-fucking-aware that she already knew that, “and?”

“The fact pattern for the Upperclass Competition this year is _also_ a Fourth Amendment illegal search and seizure one. Just like the University of Michigan one! I bet we could just re-use a lot of the same cases and research for both briefs _and_ arguments. And the intramural competition is in March so we could use it as a practice run for the Michigan competition in April!”

“Elizabeth. Darlin’.” He pushed her – no, _his_ – binder to the side and folded his fingers together, leaning across the table towards her. “You _actually_ tryin’ to suggest to me we do _two_ competitions this semester? Why the hell would we do that?”

She took a moment, her eyes fixed on his hands on the table in front of her. 

“I just think it’d be good to be able to practice at a real competition before we go to the University of Michigan,” she mumbled.

“Okay, Elizabeth, for real now – cut the crap, what’s so special about this Michigan competition? There’s 20 other competitions in this binder just as good,” he told her, tapping his binder with his elbow for emphasis. 

“It’s a qualifying tournament,” she said at last. She didn’t look like she wanted to go on, so he made an impatient “keep going” motion with his finger. 

She sighed, then came out with it all in a rush. 

“The ABA’s Midwest Regional Moot Court Competition is this summer. It’s open to rising 3Ls who won or were the highest placing eligible team in a qualifying tournament during their second year. The University of Michigan competition is one of the qualifying tournaments. And they have a history of sending teams from law schools in Michigan to the Regionals.” 

Finally, they were getting somewhere. He had a bored recollection of Gretchen droning on about something like this. 

“Where is this Regional thing?”

“Chicago.”

“So you’re thinkin’ we win at U of M, then we go to Chicago this summer?”

She gave a little self-deprecating laugh and shrugged, looking back down at the table, “I don’t know. I guess it’d be fun just to compete. Who knows what might happen, right?” 

“Nah, none of that,” he shook his head, “I said cut the crap. Tell me what you’re _thinkin’._ ”

She took a breath and when she looked back up at him, she had dropped all the girlish uncertain bullshit. 

“Okay,” she told him calmly, “Yes. I think we have a really good chance of winning at the University of Michigan or being the highest placing 2L team, then going on to Chicago. And our school has never had a team at Regionals who placed higher than fourth. If _we_ do, we can play it up to every alum and lawyer _and judge_ in Detroit. We could write our own tickets after graduation.” 

He sat back in his chair, shaking his head as he ran his eyes over her. 

Sometimes he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing and how at odds it was with what he was seeing. She was all big innocent cartoon eyes and sweet angel face, then she’d bust out something like this, absolutely clear-eyed and calculating and almost _ruthless_ in her ambition. 

For some reason it just turned him all the way the fuck on. 

And just like when she’d pitched him before Christmas, he knew right away he’d end up agreeing. But he had to give her a little shit at least first, to save face. 

“Well, shit, Elizabeth, why don’t we give it 110% and enter the mock trial intramural competition in February too?” 

It was clearly a joke. Obviously. A joke.

“Oh. Do you really think we should do a trial advocacy competition too?” she asked, sounding uncertain at first, but almost immediately starting to pick up steam and get a gleam in her eyes that was almost terrifying, “we’d have to teach ourselves the Rules of Evidence since we’re not taking Evidence this semester, but I bet a bunch of the advocacy skills would transfer over and we could–”

“Elizabeth!” Jesus, did anyone ever tell her no? She was going to burn herself out without someone looking out for her. 

“No,” he said, holding up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest, “Elizabeth, _no_. We ain’t teaching ourselves Evidence on the side so we can do mock trial _and_ moot court both. Enough is enough, _for real._ ” 

She still looked unwilling to let it go. 

“We do the _two_ moot court competitions _only_ this semester, then we re-evaluate next year,” he told her definitively. “Take it or leave it.” 

She eyed him for several long seconds before saying slowly, “We can re-evaluate next year?”

“What’d I just say?”

“Fine,” she said, nodding briskly to him like _she_ had gotten _him_ to agree instead of _him_ laying down the law to _her_!

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into. 

\-----

Their new little “partnership” notwithstanding, there were still several things that annoyed him about Elizabeth, but the absolute fucking worst was her little fucking _friend_ Garden. 

It’d been so satisfying to block Elizabeth’s little attempt to get that dude on the SBA fall semester, even if he did have to talk fast to justify to Dylan why he had nominated her without telling her first. Especially since Dylan had had no interest in being on the SBA (what normal person did?). 

He hadn’t exactly been able to say “I nominated you because Elizabeth was annoying the shit out of me by slobbering all over fucking _Garden_.” He had suspected that wouldn’t go over too well. 

So he’d ended up showing her Elizabeth’s damn article about gender barriers and increasing opportunities for women to convince her to accept the position. (Even though he himself could easily read between the lines and see that Elizabeth didn’t really mean “Elect Women Every Chance You Get” but instead “Elect Elizabeth – Or Else.”)

But when spring semester started, Dylan told him flatly that being on the SBA was a waste of time (like he didn’t know that?) and she wasn’t going to run in the 1L election. She had resisted all his best efforts to convince her otherwise. 

And then little fucking Garden won the 1L election and ended up on the SBA anyway. 

It was bad enough seeing that asshole sitting next to Elizabeth every fucking SBA meeting. 

But it really really annoyed him seeing them together anywhere else. The dude was a year below them, what could they possibly have to talk about? 

One Monday in early February, Rio got to school early to meet Elizabeth before class. She wanted to show him a chart she had made to compare the differences between the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure and the corresponding Michigan state rules. 

But when he got to the Commons, he found her sitting at a table with Garden. It annoyed the fuck out of him to see their blonde heads so close together as they bent over the notebook on the table in front of them.

He came up behind Elizabeth and ran his finger up the back of her arm to get her attention.

“Oh, hi,” she smiled up at him when she saw it was him. 

“Hey, man,” Garden said, standing and sticking out his hand. 

Rio gave him a nod and reluctantly shook his hand fucking _again_. This was the second time in a week. At last Friday’s happy hour, a bunch of the 1Ls had shown up and fucking Garden had actually had the balls to come up and introduce himself as “ _Beth’s_ friend” as though he wasn’t already well-aware who he was and as though he actually really was Elizabeth’s _friend_. 

Rio turned to Elizabeth, “you ready to go over stuff now or what?” 

She nodded. 

“Okay, well, I guess I should leave you guys to it. Thanks for the help, Beth.” Garden looked back and forth between him and Elizabeth. “And, um, you’ll let me know about Grand Rapids?”

She nodded and smiled. 

“I was helping him with his Torts outline,” Elizabeth told him, after the dude finally fucking left. 

He didn’t think that deserved a response.

“He asked me to be his mentor,” she told him proudly. 

_That_ made him want to laugh out loud. 

“Oh! And guess what?” she looked excited, “I was telling Gardner about Criminal Procedure and how we’re going to go over all the federal and state rules for class. He said that if we want, we could all drive up to Grand Rapids together one Friday and watch his father’s criminal motions docket.” 

“ _We_?” he asked her in disbelief.

She looked confused.

“What?”

“He actually suggested the three of us?” He was beyond skeptical. Him and Garden had exchanged about twenty words total since the day they’d met. 

“Well, yes? Why’s that weird? He knows we’re friends,” she stopped, stuttered a little, “I mean – _partners_ who study together…you know what I mean.”

“Elizabeth. You ain’t actually suggestin’ you, me, and _Garden_ drive four hours round trip to sit in a courtroom together all day?” 

“Oh.” She finally picked up on his tone. “You don’t want to?” 

He stared at her. “Why would I _ever_ wanna do that?”

“Because…it’s an opportunity to meet a _federal_ judge?” she floundered. 

He shook his head in disgust. Elizabeth acted like that meant the guy was a god or something, instead of a douchebag in a robe, if his son was anything to go by. 

“It’s not just that, okay! It would help us for the Criminal Procedure final! We’d see all the Rules in action, learn about the different motions, see how arguments get structured!” 

“Elizabeth. If that’s what you really after and not just a chance to kiss Garden’s dad’s feet,” she scowled at that and opened her mouth to protest but he kept going, “we should just go watch Gretchen.” 

“Gretchen?” she looked at him uncertainly, “what do you mean?” 

“Gretchen’s got criminal motions every week. Motions to dismiss, motions to suppress, the works. Here. _In Detroit_. You know – where we’re actually gonna end up practicing in a couple years, not _Grand Rapids_? And hers are in state court and usin’ state rules. We got a better chance of being in state court right after graduation than making it into a federal courtroom.”

He could see Elizabeth start to look more and more convinced as he laid out his arguments.

“You don’t think she’d mind if we came and watched?” 

Mind? He shook his head. Gretchen’d love a chance to show off. 

“Well, then that sounds great actually.”

He nodded. Of course it did. And it was about a hundred times better than little Garden’s plan. 

He’d just have to make sure they went on a day Gretchen wasn’t handling anything related to the family, but otherwise, they’d be golden. 

“Fine, it’s settled. Now show me this magical chart that’s gonna guarantee we get As on the final.” 

\-----

They developed a system. 

She loved to research and was great at it. So she took the first pass through – searching for case law on point and combing through law review articles, treatises, the works – looking for anything that matched up to the issues from the competitions’ fact patterns. 

He took the next step, reading through what she had gathered and culling through it. Then pulling together their strongest points and where they were weakest.

Then it was back to her for the first draft of the briefs, then back to him again.

It wasn’t a system without kinks. 

He had to watch her like a hawk or she had a tendency to spiral out. She wanted to track down every single fussy little point, even when he told her it wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

And sometimes she just straight up lost her mind. Like when she told him she was thinking about emailing the competition organizers at the U of M to ask if they could have an extra ten pages for their brief. He told her if she did that he would personally email the same organizers and withdraw them from the competition. She had ignored him the rest of the day, but in the end, their brief stayed the original number of pages.

So it wasn’t _exactly_ a perfect system. 

But it was close. 

Sometimes he was amazed at how well they worked together.

\----

Gretchen was kicking ass as usual. 

They’d already watched her successfully argue for a reduction to the amount of bail set for one client up on assault and battery charges. 

Now they were watching her make a motion to suppress on behalf of another client. She was arguing that the gun found on the defendant had to be excluded at trial because the cops didn’t have a reasonable suspicion to stop and frisk. 

She was crisp and focused, totally in her element as she weaved together the relevant facts with the applicable case law to show that the cops’ pretext for searching had been bullshit. 

Elizabeth clutched his wrist when the judge granted Gretchen’s motion. He grinned down at her. She looked so excited, all shiny eyes and flushed cheeks. 

When court recessed for lunch, they met Gretchen downstairs in the courthouse cafeteria.

As they ate, he watched Gretchen and Elizabeth together. They’d known each other last year, of course, but Gretchen had been a 3L and Elizabeth and him 1Ls, so there hadn’t been much common ground other than SBA shit. 

Now they were full of topics. And not just school shit – Elizabeth asking her about each of the motions, why Gretchen had made this argument instead of that one, some nuance about one of the Crim Pro rules, what she thought the judge had meant by a particular question. 

He ate in silence, enjoying watching them together. 

“You didn’t tell me you were on the SBA again this year,” Gretchen frowned at him, breaking into his thoughts. 

He shrugged. It wasn’t like it was something to brag about, even if Elizabeth and Gretchen both thought being on the SBA was the single greatest achievement any law student could possibly hope for. 

“He’s the Moot Court Board’s _appointee_ ,” Elizabeth chimed in, pointedly.

He shot her a look. They had already had this conversation three times, and he didn’t know how much clearer he could be that it didn’t matter what shit she had orchestrated to amend a stupid piece of paper, _that_ didn’t determine which of them was in charge. (“Yes, it does!” Elizabeth insisted heatedly each time, “that’s _exactly_ what it does!”) 

Gretchen was looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Did the Board ask for volunteers for the SBA appointee like usual?”

They had, yes, but it was just like Gretchen to think everything was the same as when she was in school. 

“Nah. I keep tellin’ you – things change, Gretch, and you ain’t in charge anymore.” He kicked out his legs under the table and stretched his hands behind his head. “Speaking of, you should see what Elizabeth did to the SBA Bylaws.”

Elizabeth gave him a dirty look and turned quickly to Gretchen to explain. “ _I_ didn’t do anything. My alternate 2L Class Representative, who was _democratically elected_ by _the entire class_ and not just _appointed_ by a _small subset_ of people, made a motion – duly seconded and properly voted on – to amend the Bylaws to clarify that elected representatives outrank appointed representatives.” 

Gretchen absorbed that, then nodded slowly. “That probably was a needed clarification.”

He narrowed his eyes to Gretchen to let her know they were going to have a talk about this little betrayal later when they were alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand to dismiss all the SBA nonsense, “Gretch, tell Elizabeth what you were tellin’ me last year about how the judging criteria is weighted for competitions.”

That was all the excuse Gretchen needed to launch straight in. Elizabeth leaned forward, listening seriously while she took notes in a little notebook she had pulled out of her huge purse. (He had winced as soon as he saw her do it, both at how dorky it was and how much this was going to inflate Gretchen’s already giant ego.)

Practicing for the moot court competition last year with Gretchen had been torture at times. He had known she was a great competitor and would have a lot of solid advice. And she had.

But she had also loved to lecture him. And she had tended to veer off into long-winded stories recapping various competitions she had competed in over the years, which had almost bored him to tears. 

She was doing it again, but Elizabeth just ate it all up with a spoon, making appropriate noises of disbelief and excitement as she listened along. 

“I _tried_ to tell Rio all this last year,” Gretchen concluded accusingly, “and he told me ‘get to the point.’”

She scowled at him, remembering. He glared back, annoyed that she would actually do her dumb voice imitation thing in front of Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth looked back and forth between them, biting her lip a little, looking uneasy. 

“Gretchen, what were you saying about how you noticed female judges and male judges score differently at the competitions?” He had the feeling Elizabeth was trying to keep the peace between them, as though him and Gretch were about to start brawling or something. 

It worked though because Gretchen was immediately diverted. She started in on the comments that female competition judges had given her over the years, everything from telling her not to wear a pantsuit to how Gretchen needed to moderate her voice so as not to sound “shrill.” (And while obviously he’d have preferred that Gretchen never had to deal with ridiculous horseshit like that, he did want to laugh at the look of comically animated outrage on Elizabeth’s face. Sometimes she just looked so adorable, it was unreal.) 

“Internalized misogyny,” he broke in, knowingly. 

Gretchen and Elizabeth stared at him. He wished he could take a picture to show them they had the exact same blank look on their faces. 

Elizabeth recovered first.

“It’s just something we were talking about the other day in class,” she explained to Gretchen, “Professor Michel was describing unconscious internal gender biases of female lawmakers and how it contributes to the reinforcement of regressive laws and policies that have traditionally victimized women.” 

“Michel?” Gretchen asked slowly, “Does she still teach that feminism class?”

“It’s actually called the Feminist Legal Theory Seminar, Gretch,” he corrected, enjoying the look on her face at his condescending tone. 

“ _You’re_ taking a class on feminist legal theory?” she asked, disbelief dripping out of her voice. 

“Gretchen,” he shook his head, like she had wounded him, placing one hand on his chest, “I look like I got any problem with strong women to you?”

It was the same thing he had said to Elizabeth the first day of class when she started sputtering as soon as she saw him walk in. Normally he wouldn’t like to reuse his material, but Gretchen looked just as disgusted as Elizabeth had the first time he said it, and Elizabeth looked even more disgusted to hear it again. So, win-win. 

He’d have liked to have kept riling them both up, but Gretchen had to get back to court for her afternoon docket and him and Elizabeth had class. 

Elizabeth chattered happily the whole drive back to school about what they had seen and how it would help them for _both_ their Crim Pro final and the competitions later in the semester. 

He just listened, deeply satisfied that all this had been much better than anything Garden could have come up with.

\-----

Sometimes it felt like he understood Elizabeth perfectly. 

And sometimes it felt like she was a fucking foreign language and he was only understanding one word in three. 

He’d spent a whole morning with her sister over the summer going over angles and formulas and shit. The two of them doing problem after problem in those GED practice test books while Elizabeth bounced the baby on her lap watching them. 

He had waited for her to bring it up again, to tell him all proud one day how her sister passed. 

She never did. 

And then when he finally brought it up himself, asked how it all turned out, Elizabeth had just looked at him blankly. Like he hadn’t even helped out even the little bit he did. 

“It went fine,” she finally said, then changed the subject. 

And the grade thing – he couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

Elizabeth had so clearly been obsessed with grades and class ranks their first year. 

She hadn’t mentioned it even once their second. 

The _why_ of that seemed clear enough to him. She must have gotten a C somewhere along the way, ‘cause when he had finally gotten around to check the class rank list to see where he was, she wasn’t in the top ten percent anymore. 

He couldn’t figure out the _where_ though. She was the best writer in the class, so it hadn’t come from Legal Writing. And it was almost impossible to imagine Elizabeth tanking any of their finals so bad that she’d be on the bottom half of the curve. 

He had thought for awhile that that was why she was so fucking gung ho about their Family Law negotiation assignment. Wanting to meet all the time, fighting so hard for every little scrap for her fictional asshole client _Carl_. So she could get an A and bring her average up. 

And even though he knew the whole thing was pointless because that lunatic Katz wasn’t even going to be looking at these things, her enthusiasm and dogged determination sucked him into all that negotiation back-and-forth despite himself. (It still irritated him every time he thought about the stupid fucking _Sea is for Carl_ and Elizabeth’s stubborn refusal to admit how terrible that name was.)

But then it had come down to the wire. And instead of agreeing to his terms, she had been willing to blow the whole thing up over a measly five percent. Willing to chance taking a final, even though she’d never be able to recover from another C.

He had been so sure she would break. No way she’d take that risk. 

But she hadn’t. Just had sat there looking at him, so calm, so cool. Hadn’t so much as blinked. 

He’d won in the end, of course, by making her agree to his deal in exchange for the 5%. But it had still felt like he had been missing something. 

Still. If the goal was to end up speaking fluent Elizabeth one day, he figured he got closer and closer every day. 

\-----

Sometimes he thought that signing up for the feminism class was the best decision he had made in law school. 

He was the only dude in the class (big surprise) and he gathered Professor Michel didn’t exactly have a bunch of guys beating down her door to take this class any other year either. Not a class went by that Michel wasn’t asking him what _he_ thought, _his_ opinion. 

“Let’s hear from Mr. Bonilla now for the male perspective on this,” she’d say. 

He loved it. Elizabeth hated it. That made him love it more.

He also liked posing hypotheticals to Michel to get Elizabeth all worked up. Like what did Michel think of female divorce attorneys who refused to properly value a stay-at-home-mother's non-monetary contributions to the family’s household? Or the same female divorce attorney disparaging a woman’s educational focus just because it didn’t fit a traditional masculine ideal like Accounting or Finance?

Elizabeth would grit her teeth while Michel went on and on about internalized gender biases. 

It was incredible. 

But he also liked how much Elizabeth clearly loved the class (when he wasn’t trying to drive her crazy, that was). How she had gotten all the supplemental texts, even the optional ones, how excited she’d get when she described them to him. 

No matter what way you looked at it, the class was just really fucking fun. He wondered why more dudes didn’t check it out. 

\-----

In March, he finally decided to throw Elizabeth a bone and let her moot him as the judge for one of their practice sessions instead of him always being the judge and quizzing her. 

He sat at one of the attorney’s tables in the mock trial room, swiveling lazily in the little wheeled chair. 

Elizabeth had disappeared into the little back room behind the judge’s bench to “get ready” as she put it. That didn’t make any sense but he had learned to pick his battles with the weird shit she came up with, so he waited.

He heard the door behind the judge’s bench open, and he started swiveling back to the front of the room. Finally. He opened his mouth to tell her it was time to get this show on the road.

Then he saw her and he shut his mouth.

She had put on a judge’s robe over her clothes. It was black, satin, full-length. The contrast against her skin made it look like she was lit up from within. 

She had piled all her hair up on the top of her head. 

And she was wearing glasses. 

Jesus Christ, was she trying to kill him? 

He shifted a little in his seat.

“You like it?” she beamed, when he kept staring, “I thought it would make it more authentic!” 

“Where’d you get the robe?” he finally asked, when it was clear she was waiting for a response.

“From the back! You never told me the Moot Court Board stores robes back there for the judges to wear during competitions!” 

Like he paid any attention to wardrobe props the Board fussed around with. 

“And the glasses?” 

“I stole them from Annie. She was Velma from Scooby Doo a couple Halloweens ago.” 

She did a little twirl. 

“Do you like it?” she repeated proudly. 

Yeah. He liked it. 

He shook his head a little to clear it and get back into the right head space. 

“Aight, can we please get started already now?”

“Wait!” she sounded excited, “I’ll go stand in the back room so we can do the whole thing!”

“You know,” she continued, when he tilted his head, “so you can say ‘All Rise, this Court is now in session, the Honorable Elizabeth I. Boland now presiding, please be seated and come to order,” and then I’ll walk out.”

He shook his head. “Nah, we ain’t doin’ that.” 

“Why not?!” She started to scrunch up her face. “You said _I_ had to do it last time when you were the judge!” 

(He had, but it had been funny when he did it. This was just childish.) 

He rolled his eyes at her. 

“Yeah, okay, sure sure,” he cleared his throat and threw it out bored and quick to show he was only humoring her, “Yo, Court’s started, Judge Elizabeth’s here, everyone shut the fuck up.” 

She didn’t look satisfied so he held up a hand. 

“Elizabeth. We just wastin’ time here. You gonna take this shit seriously or no?” 

She scowled at him, which made her glasses slip down her nose a little. She shoved them back up with one finger.

“Of course I am!”

“Then enough of this silliness, let’s go already!” 

She gave him a grumpy look but sat down finally, waving a hand at him to get started.

He gave her back an exaggerated “ _Thank you_.” 

He stood and walked to the podium to face her at the bench on the dais above him. 

He started his argument. And didn’t make it three sentences in before she interrupted. 

“What is the standard of review this Court must consider on appeal for findings of fact, Mr. Bonilla?” she asked, resting her elbows on the bench and steepling her fingers together. 

He stopped himself just barely from rolling his eyes again. What a softball question. He’d expected her to try for something hard, like quizzing him on case cites or something else meaningless and boring that she loved so much.

“Findings of fact are reviewed under the clearly erroneous standard on appeal,” he answered smoothly, then launched back in seamlessly, not even needing to look down at his notes to pick up his argument from before she had interrupted him. 

He really hoped Elizabeth was paying attention to how he did this and picking up some pointers.

He only got a few words out though before she interrupted again.

“Your Honor,” she said, calmly. Softly. 

He stopped again. 

“What?” he asked, confused. That wasn’t a question. 

“‘Findings of fact are reviewed under the clearly erroneous standard’… _Your…Honor_.”

He blinked at her. 

“You should be addressing this Court at all times as ‘Your Honor,’ Mr. Bonilla,” she continued silkily, when he didn’t say anything. 

She was looking down at him serenely from the bench, her head cocked just so. 

The robe, the hair, the glasses – taken all together with the judge voice she was doing, for a second it was overwhelming.

He swallowed and gave her a curt nod. 

Then he looked back down at his notes, trying to find his place again. 

It took him a few seconds. 

He started up again. 

She let him talk for a couple minutes this time without interrupting. She just watched him, head tilting to the right and left every few moments, like she was watching something fascinating on TV. 

It was distracting as hell. 

He got to the fact-heavy section of his argument, going through all the reasons why the cops’ search had violated the Fourth Amendment and why the trial judge had gotten it wrong by allowing the evidence seized at the defendant’s farm to be considered by the jury at trial. 

“Mr. Bonilla,” she interrupted, “Are we to understand correctly that you are asking this Court to hold that when a rural property happens to be the one searched, Fourth Amendment _protections_ against illegal searches and seizures should be _expanded_ to protect searches over _dozens of acres_?” 

They both knew it was a question they were gonna get asked at the actual competition. It was the weakest part of their case. 

Still, her mocking tone made everything in him tighten up even more.

“Yes.” He didn’t expand into all the arguments they had come up to counter this question. Just stared at her. 

She stared right back. 

“Yes… _what_?” she prompted softly, her voice practically a purr. 

Jesus Christ, why was he so into this? He shifted his hips, glad the podium blocked her from seeing him waist-down. 

“Yes… _Your….Honor_ ,” he gritted out.

She tapped the end of her pen thoughtfully against her pursed lips. He watched in fascination as the pen stuck slightly in her pink lip gloss. 

“Mr. Bonilla. This Court is beginning to get the _unfortunate_ impression that you do not wish to show us the _deference_ to which we are _due._ ” 

He couldn’t take much more of this. 

“Okay, Elizabeth, you made your point.” 

“ _Your Honor_ - _”_ she started in again before he cut her off, holding up his hand to show her playtime was over. 

“I thought we needed to take this… _shit_ seriously,” she half-pouted.

“ _I_ am,” he shot back, “you the one messin’ around.” 

“I’m not messing around!” she said indignantly, “Gretchen told me she sat in on the final round of the 1L competition last year and you forgot to address the Court as ‘Your Honor’ _twice_.” 

He barked out a laugh, “Oh, _Gretchen_ told you that? When?” 

(And he hadn’t forgotten to do it last year, he had just chosen not to. And speaking of that competition, the real question was where the fuck had _Elizabeth_ been because he still didn’t know.) 

“She emailed me.” 

“You and Gretchen email?”

“Yes.”

What the hell? Looked like he needed to have another talk with Gretchen about shit she should be keeping him informed about. 

“What you two email about?”

“You, obviously.” She laughed at his expression, “She sent me her Top Ten Dos and Don’ts for competitions. Number 6 – _Don’t_ forget to show proper deference to the Court at all time. She said to make sure to remind you.” 

“Well, mission accomplished, now come down here and let’s go through some of these persuasive authority cases in case we need ‘em.” 

She pouted for the rest of the afternoon that she didn’t get to be the judge anymore, but he didn’t care. 

Standing at a podium half-hard while she acted out her Judge Elizabeth fantasy was _not_ his idea of a good time. 

\-----

Some things were still the same as last year. 

They still argued all the time in class. Some of the shit Elizabeth would say? He just couldn’t let it slide without a challenge. 

The way she almost always had to talk up the majority opinion on any case, even when it was clearly dumb or illogical. Even when he could tell that she secretly didn’t even agree with it. Why couldn’t she ever just say what she really thought? (But then sometimes it was the weirdest things that made her break off from the pack. Like in Con Law last semester, when she’d seemed so passionately invested in the 2000 election. It was just so weird.)

And it drove him crazy the way Elizabeth always had to make the tiniest little corrections when he didn’t state some dumb rule of Criminal Procedure or Professional Responsibility exactly completely word-for-word correct. As though they wouldn’t have paralegals or secretaries to fact-check that shit when they finally started practicing. 

(But he liked the way she had to call him “Mr. Bonilla” in class, even when she was trying to smack down his arguments. The way she tried so hard to pronounce it correctly, how it sounded coming out of her mouth. And he liked the way she’d usually forget they were supposed to only address the professors, not talk to each other directly, and she’d turn to him all heated, cheeks all pink, like she could convince him just by looking into his eyes. Hell, sometimes it felt like she almost could.) 

So yeah, they still went at it in class. 

But the best part was now the arguing carried over outside classes. While they were waiting for class to start or packing up after. Through their practice sessions and the emails they sent back and forth with the drafts of the briefs. In their little “study group” that Elizabeth had said it’d be such a good idea for the two of them to form since they had the same schedule. 

Today, they were fighting over the last lecture from their Professional Responsibility class. The topic had been the theory that all lawyers could be classified in one of four categories as far as the lawyer’s relationship to his client. 

You could either be a “godfather,” a “guru,” a “hired gun,” or a “friend.” 

A godfather lawyer ignored any other interests except his client’s and did whatever he thought would benefit the client best. 

A guru lawyer considered the best interests of everyone involved, then aggressively persuaded the client to do what the lawyer thought was right. 

A hired gun lawyer did exactly what the client said to do, no arguments. 

And a friend lawyer engaged the client about all moral issues and tried to come to the most ethically correct decision together without any attempt to manipulate the client. 

They had both agreed straight off the bat that Professor Kerrigan’s belief that the friend lawyer was the ideal model was just straight up wrong (although Rio noticed Elizabeth didn’t pipe up with that little opinion in class to Kerrigan’s face).

But they were stuck on which of the other three options was best. 

He had been trying to convince her that the godfather lawyer or hired gun models were best. It just came down to whether you were gonna _be_ the lawyer or _hire_ the lawyer. 

Like, for example, if his role in the business after graduation was as its lawyer, obviously he’d be the one making the legal decisions that would benefit the family most. 

But when the time came when Rio was in charge, he wouldn’t need nobody else to be making decisions on his behalf. If he was paying, he wanted a hired gun to do exactly what he wanted. Or there’d be hell to pay.

Elizabeth had rejected both of his choices though. 

“No, that’s wrong,” she was shaking her head so firmly, like it was so obvious, “Guru is best. Because that means I looked at everyone’s best interests, made the best decision for everyone, _and_ got my client to agree with me.” 

“Why’s it matter so much if they agree with you?” 

“Because that means they know I’m right,” she told him, all lofty. 

“Who cares if _they_ know it, just _be_ right then do what _you_ want!” 

“No. I want them to have to admit it.” 

He laughed, even as he shook his head at how wrong she was, yet again. 

That right there was Elizabeth in a nutshell. 

\-----

Dylan had heard that the Barristers’ Ball was lame so she hadn’t wanted to get there until later. But he told her he had to make an appearance pretty early because of all the bullshit associated with being on the SBA. 

Elizabeth was there already when they walked in. She’d probably gotten there the second the doors opened.

She was standing across the room in a little group that looked like mostly people from the SBA. The husband stood next to her. He had his arm draped over Elizabeth’s shoulder as he looked around the room. 

The dude looked exactly like the kind of guy Rio’d expected Elizabeth to be with. White, of course. A tall, ex-jock football player type. Dressed in the same boring tux you’d expect a guy like him to be wearing.

He knew that Elizabeth knew he was there. He’d caught her eye from across the room the second he walked in. She’d even given him one of her little half-smiles.

But she didn’t come say hi. She didn’t bring the husband over to introduce him. 

At one point, he thought she was. But instead, he watched as she led the guy up to introduce him to fucking Garden. They shook hands, looking like twin Ken dolls facing each other in a mirror, while Elizabeth watched smiling. Then the husband was pulling her back against him while he and Garden started talking each others’ ears off.

Well, fuck it, then. He didn’t give a shit about meeting her husband anyway. 

An hour later though, and it was Dylan dragging him over “to say hi to your friend” when she saw Elizabeth and the husband sitting at one of the tables. She had liked Elizabeth ever since she had read her article about breaking gender barriers (breaking _Elizabeth_ barriers). Even though Elizabeth didn’t seem to want to be friendly with any 1L except fucking Garden. 

It went wrong right away. 

From the second Rio realized the guy had no fucking idea who he even was. He actually thought _Dylan_ and Elizabeth were the ones who were in class together. Had very clearly never even heard his name.

Then the name-dropping and other bullshit started and that was bad enough. 

But to have to sit there and listen to all this shit about Elizabeth that he never knew? That they’d been together since high school? That they had worked together for years? That they just bought a house together now that her sister had moved out? 

And the way he talked about her and the way Elizabeth acted while he did? 

He lasted ten minutes before he couldn’t take another fucking second of it. He grabbed Dylan and headed out to the dance floor. 

He avoided looking at Elizabeth for most of the rest of the night. But when he finally did look back over to her table, he saw her sitting alone, her head bent down a little. 

When he went over and sat down at the table, he just looked at her for awhile. 

The girls at this thing all looked pretty much the same. None of them looked like her. 

She was gorgeous. Her hair was all pinned up in big curls with some kind of chain woven through that twinkled in the light. Her dark blue dress hugged her close, made her look like some centerfold. She’d done something with her makeup that made her eyes look bigger, if that were even possible. 

“Why you sittin’ over here alone,” he finally asked.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Dean went outside with Gardner to smoke a cigar.” 

Of course they did. 

She kept her eyes on the table, shredding the little napkin in front of her. 

“Thank you,” she finally said, “for that stuff you said.” 

He nodded once. 

“Dean just…he means well. He just doesn’t understand.” 

Why didn’t she make him understand then? He just didn’t get it. 

They sat looking out over the dance floor. 

The DJ put on a slow song, something old-fashioned Rio only vaguely recognized. Elizabeth looked up and smiled though when it started playing. 

“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” she said, and when he cocked his head, asked him, “Did you know it only became a hit after it was first played here in Detroit?”

He shook his head. 

She smiled again. “My mom and dad loved Frankie Valli.” 

They sat in silence, just listening, looking at the couples dancing together. 

He wondered what she’d say if he asked her to dance. 

If she said yes, would they be all stiff and awkward together, like they so often were, probably each of them trying too hard to lead? 

Or would it be like when he saw her dancing with her husband, the two of them looking like they just fit together like two puzzle pieces. Like they had danced together a thousand times before and would do it a thousand more. 

The husband came back from outside by the time the next song started. Smelling like cigars and leaning down to ask _Bethie_ if she wanted another glass of wine, his hands rubbing up and down her arms to cup her shoulders. 

He didn’t stick around after that. Dylan and her friends wanted to blow this thing off anyway and head to a club downtown. That sounded way more fun than this shit, so he went to find her so they could leave. 

It wasn’t a surprise that Elizabeth’s husband was an asshole. The only surprise was that she seemed to love him so much she didn’t care. 

\-----

_im here where u at_

_bkfast sux. told u we should of gone to cafe_

_sched says rm 220 for round 1_

_u almost here? meet u in 220_

_pick up the phone_

_elizabeth where the fuck are you_

He sat in Room 220, alone at their table. The other team – a couple of 3L night students he barely knew – were already seated and set up at their table on the other side of the podium. The Moot Court Board kid (Bob? Bud?) who was acting as the bailiff and timekeeper for their round was standing in front of the judges’ bench, yapping their ears off about the clerkship he had lined up after graduation. 

Rio checked his phone, then his watch, then his phone again. 

Still nothing from Elizabeth and less than ten minutes before the first round of the competition would start. 

Where was she? 

Elizabeth was the one who had suggested they meet early in the Commons, where the organizers had set up breakfast for the competitors and judges. Had given him the hard sell that they could get breakfast and “relax” before the first round started, which he had known really meant cramming like crazy trying to review every single argument and case again. 

But they hadn’t been talking like they usually did, ever since the Barristers’ Ball last weekend. He’d ended up skipping class a couple times that week, and she’d seemed quieter than usual before and after class when he did see her.

So he had agreed to breakfast so they could have a chance to get on the same page again. 

He had shown up on time. And there had been no sign of her. 

He’d eaten alone. And still she didn’t show. 

He’d finally checked the schedule and found what room they were supposed to be in for Round 1 and headed there, figuring she’d of gone straight there. 

But she wasn’t in their assigned room either.

It felt like last year. Exactly like last year. 

Sitting there dressed up like a dumbass in a suit and tie too early on a Saturday morning. Trying not to make eye contact with the “judges” sitting up at the front. 

And waiting and watching for Elizabeth with no fucking idea where she could be and the competition about to start. 

He had already tried to call her three times but it went to voicemail. She hadn’t answered any of his texts since last night. 

He checked his phone again, but still there was nothing. 

Rio got up and walked out of the classroom to look back up and down the hall again. 

There was still no sign of her. 

Had this all been some stupid fucking joke? Make him spend hours working on all this shit, then just not show up again like she had last year? While he waited for her like a fucking idiot? 

She was probably spending the weekend decorating the new house or visiting some fucking farmer’s market with the husband. 

He closed his eyes and scrubbed his hand over his face. It just felt unreal that this could be happening all over again.

That’s when he heard the click-clack of heels on the tile floor. 

He opened his eyes to see Elizabeth. 

She was rushing down the hall towards him, dragging her ridiculous bag behind her. As soon as their eyes met, a breathless half-grin spread across her face.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she called as she approached, “I had to go to the Commons first to see what room we were in and then I-”

“Where the fuck were you?” he broke through her babbling, hell-bent to wipe that smile off her face.

It worked. She stopped smiling. Stopped chattering too. She came to an abrupt stop right in front of him, blinking up at him.

She cleared her throat, and he watched her teeth start to worry at her bottom lip. 

“I know I’m late,” she said, quieter, her eyes searching across his face, “I hurried as fast as I could.” 

He felt so frustrated he wanted to shake her. That wasn’t a fucking answer. 

He stepped closer until they were chest-to-chest. 

She didn’t back away.

“Elizabeth. I _said_. Where the _fuck_ were you?” he repeated, slowly. His voice came out half-hoarse with the effort it took not to shout at her and be heard inside the classroom. 

“My phone…” she began, then trailed off. He watched the muscles in her throat move before she started again, “Dean had to –” She cut herself off again, with a half-shake of her head.

Fucking _Dean_ , he knew it. 

And why was she hesitating? All the damn talking she did all the damn time and now she shut up? 

He leaned down closer, made his voice even softer. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue? Why don’t you just go with what you told me last year? Tell me it’s none of my business, no, wait, none of my _fucking_ business, right?” 

He watched her face harden then, any hesitation or apology that had ever been there falling away.

She lifted her chin and when she spoke, her voice was ice. 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” she said, clipped, correct, “There’s still five minutes before our round starts, so what is your problem exactly?” 

He wanted to keep pressing her, force her to answer. But he knew he wouldn’t get nowhere. No one was as stubborn as her. 

“What the fuck did I say about taking this shit seriously, huh?” Then, still low, still in her face, “You the one who _begged_ me to do this, remember? I didn’t need any of this, didn't need _you_.” 

He shook his head, the frustration almost unbearable. “Guess I should be happy you even bothered to show this year, yeah?” 

She said nothing to any of it, just kept staring back at him, blinking fiercely. Her eyes were glittering.

“Ms. Boland? Mr. Bonilla?” They turned together to see Bill or Bob or whatever the fuck with his head poking out of the classroom door, “The round is about to start? If you’ll come inside?” 

Rio looked back down at Elizabeth in time to see her face transform, as she smiled all big and sugary polite back at the bullshit bailiff. 

“Thank you so much, Ben!” Her voice started out a little thready, but strengthened as she went on, ending clear and strong as it usually was, “Just talking last minute strategy! We’re coming in now.” 

She pushed past him into the classroom without looking back. 

\-----

They were scheduled to argue the appellee side in the first round, which meant having to sit there side-by-side at their table while both members of the other team put on their arguments first.

It felt like the longest twenty minutes of Rio’s life. 

He barely listened to the other team’s arguments or the judges’ questions to them. He could hardly concentrate enough to even jot down notes of what he could say to counter their opponents’ points when it was his turn.

Elizabeth was the exact opposite. She was taking notes so fast and frantic he could actually hear the scratch of her pen as she scribbled. There was no way she was going to be able to organize all that into the top two or three main points to counter when it was her turn. 

He wanted to whisper to her to slow down, to listen, not to be writing shit just for the sake of writing. To remember all the shit they’d practiced and worked on.

But it felt like there was a brick wall between them. 

And she wouldn’t even look at him. 

Some of his anger had drained away and tired frustration had filled into the cracks. 

Maybe he’d gone at her a little too hard. 

But he couldn’t think of how to walk it back. 

Not trapped in the middle of this fucking classroom with a moron droning on at the podium, three other morons getting off on pretending to be judges staring at them, and Ben the Bailiff standing pompously in the corner. 

And truth be told, Rio didn’t even all the way _want_ to walk it back. 

Him and Elizabeth spent practically every school day together. Together. Talking, arguing, studying, eating, then arguing some more. 

But then school ended and she’d go home and it was like she just disappeared. All those other parts of her were off-limits. He barely knew shit about her life. She kept everything important hidden, like he just wasn’t good enough to know it. 

He pushed back in his chair to stare at her profile in frustration. 

Then he saw it. 

Her right hand moved quickly above the table, clutching her pen, still filling the page with desperate notes. 

But her left hand was curled up in her lap, under the table, where the judges couldn’t see. He watched as she flexed her fingers, opening and closing her hand jerkily, tugging reflexively on the end of her skirt. 

He watched how her hand shook. 

On impulse, he reached out under the table and covered her hand with his. He half-expected her to jerk away immediately. 

But she didn’t. 

Her hand was cold and he could feel her fingers trembling. 

He pressed down tighter, curling his fingers around her hand and rubbing his thumb along her wrist to soothe her. That fancy diamond ring she always wore dug into his palm. 

But he didn’t let up.

Gradually, the frantic writing slowed. 

She still wouldn’t look at him, but under the table, her fingers curled around his. 

\-----

They made it out of the first round. But just barely. And pretty much only because the first team they had faced sucked even more.

The second round they faced a halfway decent team. 

Rio thought him and Elizabeth probably were ten times better on any normal day, but then, it hadn’t turned out to be any normal day, had it? 

Their rhythm was all off. 

He didn’t time his part of the argument right and finished with too much wasted time leftover, while Elizabeth got interrupted by the judge for going way too over on hers. And he could tell that his answers to the judges’ questions were too clipped, and Elizabeth’s were way too rambling and wordy. 

When all the competitors were gathered back in the Commons to hear the announcement of who was advancing to the third round, it was no surprise when their names weren’t called. 

Those teams that were still in it and the judges scattered, everyone headed to their respective classrooms for the next round. The teams that had been eliminated started heading for the doors.

There wasn’t any reason for them to stick around either. 

When they got outside the building, they stood for a second on the stairs. 

He could barely look at her face so he looked at her suit. It had little things on the bottom of the hem that stuck out all cute around her knees. The jacket curved around her waist, hugging her perfectly. She was wearing a gray blouse almost the exact same color as his suit. ( _You should wear your gray suit tomorrow,_ she had texted him last night, _The charcoal one, not the one with pin stripes_. And then – _I just think it’d be nice to coordinate_ – when he had written her back to ask if she was trying to dress him now.) 

“Well,” she said finally. Her voice was dull. “I guess that’s it.” 

“Yeah,” he said. He rubbed his hand over his face. All he wanted was for this shitty morning to be over. 

Maybe he should apologize. But then, so should she. And he just couldn’t say it first. 

“Where you parked?” he asked her. He’d walk her to her car and maybe things would stop being like this. 

She shook her head. She wasn’t looking at him, just staring down the street. The wind blew a strand of hair out of her ponytail across her cheek. His fingers itched to tuck it back behind her ear.

“I didn’t drive. I had to take a cab. That’s why I was–” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Look…maybe we should rethink all this.” 

He stared at her. 

“What’s that mean?” he demanded.

She shrugged, still looking away. “It just doesn’t seem like there’s much point going any further.”

“You sayin’ you wanna quit? Just like that?”

Frustration flared up in him again. All that work they’d put in for all this shit. And the minute it didn’t go exactly her way, she couldn’t wait to just walk away. 

“Maybe you were right last year.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “Maybe moot court just isn’t my thing.” 

He pushed it all down, forced himself to take a breath.

“Aight, you love doing ‘debriefs’ so much, right? So let’s go do a debrief. Talk this shit out.”

She looked at him then, finally. 

“Where would we go?” she asked slowly. 

“Lucky’s.” 

“Lucky’s? It’s not even noon.” 

“So?” 

She searched his face, then finally nodded. 

They didn’t talk on the walk to his car, and they didn’t talk on the drive over.

But it got easier at Lucky’s. (Not _easy_ by any means. Just… _easier_.) 

Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was sitting side-by-side at the bar looking at each other in the mirror instead of being face-to-face. 

They didn’t spend much time on how it’d gone in either of the two rounds at the competition. He figured they both knew there wasn’t much point. She knew as well as he did all the things they’d screwed up. 

“I didn’t mean to be late today. I really really didn’t,” she told him suddenly, as she waited for the bartender to bring her another bourbon. “Things were just crazy at home.” 

He knocked back the rest of his vodka. 

“Okay. I get it,” he told her. 

He didn’t. He didn’t get it at all. But he wanted her to keep talking.

She was halfway through her third bourbon when she spoke again.

“Last year…” he watched her swallow in the mirror, breaking off eye contact and looking down at her drink, “Annie went into labor that morning. That’s why I wasn’t there…not because it wasn’t important to me.”

Oh. He looked down at his own drink. 

“It _is_ important to me,” she continued. In the mirror, he watched her gesture vaguely back-and-forth between them. “This. You and me. Working together, I mean. It’s…very important to me.”

The tension in him faded away.

“Okay,” he told her again. He held up his drink. “So. We start again Monday?”

He watched her in the mirror. Watched her swallow and square her little shoulders. 

She lifted her glass to clink it with his. 

“We start again Monday.” 

\-----

He was watching Elizabeth talk to his uncle across the other side of his mother’s back yard when Gretchen came up to him. 

She didn’t say anything, at first, just crossed her arms and turned to face the same direction. 

Immediately it put him on alert. Gretchen usually couldn’t shut up for anything. 

“Are you still dating that Courtney girl?” she finally asked.

He shot her a sideways glance. All the shit he and Gretchen talked about, this wasn’t one of the usual topics. 

“Wouldn’t say we was ever actually _datin_ ’ if you know what I mean, but nah. That’s been over a while.”

“So are you with anyone else then?”

He turned his head to look down at her. 

“Whatcha mean ‘with’?” 

She fixed him with a stare and didn’t respond, which annoyed him. She’d been going on and on the other day about deposition techniques that she had been learning. Like how effective it was when you were interviewing a witness not to rush to fill the silence. How you should let the other person get uncomfortable enough and they’d give you more information without you having to say nothing else. 

He couldn’t believe she was actually trying to use it on him though so he raised a suggestive eyebrow to piss her off. 

“What exactly you lookin’ for here, Gretch, names, numbers…positions?”

“Gross, you _pervert_ ,” she hissed, “I’m not asking for details!”

“Then why you askin’?” He watched his mother walk up to Elizabeth and Victor. She said something that made them both laugh and all three looked over to Rio. He tipped his chin up at them. 

Out of the corner of eye, he could see Gretchen watching them too.

“Okay, spit it out, whatever this is, Gretch.”

“Oh, I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing right now.” 

“I’m eating cake, what’s it look like.”

Gretchen laughed a little, but without much humor it in, “yeah? Well, to _me_ , it looks like you’re doing _two_ moot court competitions this semester on top of taking a _feminism seminar_ and being in the SBA.”

“Yeah? So what?”

She shook her head. 

“Okay, then let’s go one by one. _Two_ moot court competitions? You bitched nonstop at Christmas about having to do even one. And you _hate_ the SBA.”

Exasperated, he shook his head. That was all such an exaggeration. 

“Yeah, well now I’m doin’ two competitions. And ain’t you the one who bitched at me how important it was to _get involved_ and shit? That it’d pay dividends down the road?”

“Okay, sure, sure, that’s fair.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “So tell me this then, exactly how is taking a seminar on _feminist legal theory_ going to help you down the road?” 

This shit again about the seminar? Exactly what electives did Gretchen think was okay for a guy to take – Sports Law or some shit? She would have benefited from taking that seminar herself back in school to really help her examine some of her internalized prejudices.

“What, you never took an elective, Gretch?” he asked, mock incredulous, “an’ just so you know, I’m gettin’ an A in that class. Michel loved my paper on the unconscious gender bias female judges show female criminal defendants – I’ll send it to you, maybe you’ll learn somethin’.” 

“Don’t bother,” she rolled her eyes, “come on. Why are you playing dumb with me?”

“Why you tryin’ to cross-examine me?”

“Okay, if you’re going to play it like this, I’ll just ask it straight up then – why is Beth Boland here?” 

He knew that was coming, but it still jolted him enough to look down at her again. He didn’t like the knowing look on her face and he didn’t like where this looked to be headed. 

“Why wouldn’t she be?” he asked, reasonably, so maybe she’d get a clue how weird she was being. 

And really, why shouldn’t Elizabeth be here? 

They’d been practicing together at school, even though it was a Sunday. The competition at U of M was in less than a week. 

He’d lost track of time for awhile and when he’d looked down at his phone, he’d realized with a start he was due at his mother’s. His birthday was in a few days, but he’d already told her with the competition that week, he wouldn’t have much time on the actual day of. 

So his mother had insisted on getting people together for cake and punch to celebrate early.

Elizabeth had been in such a good mood. Punchy and a little hyper with all the last-minute prep. Without even really thinking about it, he’d found himself asking her if she wanted to come along. 

She had seemed to short-circuit for a bit when she found out it was almost his birthday, like it was somehow weird he had a birthday? 

But then she was nodding vigorously and agreeing to come “just for a minute at least.” 

“Why _would_ she be here?” Gretchen asked, incredulously. 

“Why _wouldn’t_ she be here?” he repeated, more forcefully. “You know she’s my partner!” 

“Oh yeah? You know, Rodney Evans was my moot court partner for two whole years, but you never saw me bringing him to family things.”

“Maybe you should of,” he told her, “then maybe you guys could of won the regional competition after all, instead of not even making it past the third round.”

He hoped that that’d piss her off enough so she’d drop it. 

It pissed her off all right, but she didn’t drop it. 

“Don’t bring that up, I _told_ you how we got screwed in that competition,” she snapped, “and don’t change the subject.”

He waved his hand to dismiss her. “What’s the big deal, it’s not like it’s only family here.” 

And it wasn’t. Mick was there, several of his crew, some ladies from his mom’s church he didn’t even know the names of. Jesus, Gretchen was so uptight sometimes.

“Rio. Come on. You really think she belongs here?”

“Why not?” This was really starting to piss him off. 

“What happens if she hears something she shouldn’t?” 

He laughed out loud.

“What, Gretchen? You think someone’s gonna bring up that shipment of Oxy we bringin’ in over the border next week in front of her?”

“I didn’t hear that,” she snapped. 

He huffed out a laugh. Ever since Gretchen had officially become his “lawyer,” she had been taking an ultra-conservative approach in his opinion. Telling him non-stop she could only “speak in hypotheticals” and could only know shit “after the fact.” 

“Sorry, _Counselor_ ,” he mocked. 

Gretchen shut up long enough that he almost hoped that it was the end of it. 

But that was just wishful thinking. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” she finally said. He could see her shaking her head out the corner of his eye.

He scoffed. “What’s that even mean, Gretchen?”

“She’s _married_ , Rio,” she answered, her voice quiet now. But firm. Like she was educating him on some new shit he didn’t already fucking know. 

“You don’t think I fucking know that?”

“From what I’m seeing, it doesn’t look like you do.” 

“Gretch, back off, yeah?” he told her, “I don’t need this from you.” 

“I just want you to be smart, okay? And not to get hurt. _Think_ about what you’re doing with her. Before this gets out of hand. _Even more_ out of hand.”

From across the back yard, he met Elizabeth’s eyes. She had a worried little expression on her face as she looked back and forth between him and Gretchen. 

He smiled to reassure her until her face relaxed a little. 

He kept the smile as he looked back down to Gretchen. But he lowered his voice and stripped out anything warm to let her know he was fucking done. 

“Gretchen. Back the fuck off. I won’t say it again.” 

When Elizabeth came over to him later, she didn’t mention the tension. 

Her eyes were sparkling and she was smiling her goofy lopsided half-smile. He could tell from her cherry red lips and tongue that she had been enjoying the punch, both before and after Mick had spiked it. 

“I _know_ ,” she said, significantly. 

He grinned down at her. She was always beautiful but when she was tipsy like this, she just looked so cute. And even though it was cool as shit to see her in boss bitch mode at school, he loved it when she was all relaxed and loose like this. It reminded him of that night he had met her friends out at the bar. 

“What’s that you know?” he asked. 

“Your _secret_ ,” she told him loftily. 

He felt the slightest chill. But only because of all Gretchen’s bullshit earlier. There was no way Elizabeth knew anything. 

“And what’s my secret?” he asked, to humor her.

“How you got your nickname,” she said triumphantly, “your mom told me the whole story!”

He laughed. Of course it was that. “You cross-examinin’ my mother now, Elizabeth?”

“No!” she protested, a little too vigorously, “it just came up _naturally_ in conversation.” 

“Sure it did. You know, you could of just asked me.”

“Please! Like you would have ever told me on your own.”

“You never even asked,” he told her. She never asked. About anything. 

She had to get going after that. He waited out front with her until her cab came, then headed back to the party. 

He avoided Gretchen for the rest of the night.

\-----

Elizabeth wanted to practice the entire drive to Ann Arbor. That was 100% not happening and he told her so straight up. 

Five minutes into the trip though, he realized she had taken his “we ain’t doin’ that” to mean _he_ wasn’t doing that but _she_ still could, because she pulled her case file binder out and started flipping through it with a determined expression. 

He knew she was just gonna spend the next 45 minutes going over it in her head, probably getting more and more anxious. 

“So you finally figure out your plan for the summer?” he asked, glancing over to her in the passenger seat. She was wearing the same black suit she had for the intramural competition, but this time with a pale pink blouse that made her skin look like pearls.

She startled a little at the question, confirming his suspicion that she was just sitting there all up in her head, working herself into a state.

“The summer?” she asked distractedly, like she only half-heard him, already glancing back down at the binder in her lap.

“Yeah, you know, Elizabeth, the summer? June, July, August? Hot as hell? Ring a bell?"

She rolled her eyes and made a face at him. But she closed the binder on her lap, so that was a win.

She turned in her seat to face him fully, leaning her head back against the seat rest. 

He liked the way she looked in his car, her bright hair against the black leather. 

“Well, we have the MPRE at the end of June, of course. You _have_ heard of that, right? That’s the _Multi_ _state…Professional… Responsibility…Examination_? The ethics portion of the bar exam that we will need to pass before we can become fully licensed lawyers next year? Ring a bell?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. For some reason, Elizabeth hated it when he called it “that ethics thing” whenever the test came up in Professional Responsibility and took every chance to remind him of the name.

“Yeah, think so. That ethics thing, right? Someone won’t shut up about it,” he glanced back over to her and laughed at her little outraged expression. Only Elizabeth could get offended on behalf of a test. “For real though, we studyin’ together for that thing or what?” 

“I really think we should, don’t you? I mean, I’ve read it’s nowhere near as much studying needed for the bar exam, but I think we should still treat it seriously?”

“Cool.” He pulled his eyes back to the road, changing lanes to the fast lane.

“I can come up with a study schedule for us.” 

He groaned a little internally. Of course she could.

“Then in August, depending on how it goes today, we might be…” she trailed off. 

“…going to Chicago for another damn competition?” he finished, tilting his head back to her. 

She flashed a smile before she could stop herself, but then immediately wiped it away and frowned severely at him. 

“Yes, okay, _maybe_ , but don’t jinx it. Knock wood.” She made a production out of looking around the front seat for wood before reaching over and lightly knocking her fist against his temple, all cheesy as hell. 

He shook his head at how dorky she could be.

“Good one.”

“So if, and that is a big if _only_ , _if_ that happens, we’ll need to work more practice time in through June and July because Regionals are just a whole other level,” she told him. 

“Damn, can’t wait,” he deadpanned.

“Otherwise, just working every day. I accepted an offer last week for a summer associate position for a firm downtown. In the business litigation group.”

She sounded proud. 

“Yeah? That’s cool.” He turned to grin at her, which made her smile bigger. “What firm?” 

She didn’t answer right away.

“Warrington, Perkins & Watkins,” she said finally. 

Rio absorbed that. _Warrington_? Jesus. He shot her a look, which she interpreted correctly.

“Yes, it’s Garden’s- _Gardner’s_ father’s old firm,” she answered grumpily. 

“Yeah? How _super_. _Garden_ help set that up for you?”

“It’s _Gardner_ and yes, he gave me some advice on who to send my resume to.” When he didn’t respond, she barreled on, “He’s really nice, you know. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

Rio absolutely doubted that. But he didn’t want to get into with her before the competition and definitely didn’t want to be spending any of their time together talking about fucking Garden.

They drove in silence for awhile. He could feel her still looking at him.

“What about you?” she asked finally, “Are you headed back to the public defender’s office?”

“Nah,” he said, forcing down the lingering irritation that she’d accept a favor from that douchebag. “I’ll be downtown too. The mergers and acquisitions group at Erickson, Hart.” 

“That firm has a great reputation.” Elizabeth sounded impressed. 

“Yeah.” Gretchen’s father worked with Erickson, Hart’s white-collar criminal defense group from time to time. Xavier had put in a good word with the hiring partner for summer associates. 

“Will you keep working for your uncle too?” she asked. 

He looked over quickly, but there was nothing except curiosity in her face.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. Is your uncle’s business structured as a limited liability company or a corporation?”

He rolled his neck a little.

“He’s got a few different businesses,” he told her, “they’re all set up different.” 

“Oh really?” she just sounded so interested, “are they all formally connected through a holding company then? Or just informally associated as sister companies?” 

It felt uncomfortable. He had to lie. (Obviously.) But that just didn’t seem as much fun as it used to. 

She misread the silence.

"Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry. You just seemed really into the advantages and disadvantages of the different types of business formations in class the other day. I figured – it just sounded like you had a lot of experience with them.”

He didn’t. But he had some ideas on how he was going to use them one day. When he was in charge. 

When they were just outside campus, he pulled out his phone to check the email with the information about where to park for the competition. 

As he was about to turn in to the parking lot though, Elizabeth spoke up.

“Actually, if you keep going straight, we can park at the Ann Street garage and cut through the back way to the building where the competition is. We’ll be closer that way.”

“Don’t worry,” she continued absently, when he looked over, “pretty sure they still don’t ticket on the weekends.” 

He flipped his turn signal off and kept going straight, following her directions. 

He tried to let it sit, to give her time to elaborate, but she didn’t. 

So, he asked. But carefully, so it sounded casual. 

“You figure out all the best parking tips by readin’ up on the competition?” 

“No,” she said after a pause. 

Rio waited. He pulled into the garage on Ann Street and started to circle the rows looking for a space. 

This time, she kept going.

“Actually… I went here. For a little while, I mean. Almost three semesters. Before I had to leave.” 

“Yeah?” He was careful not to look at her, pretended he was concentrating on pulling into a space. 

“Yeah,” her voice was quiet, “For Annie…she needed me.” 

He had a pretty good idea for what. Last semester in Family Law when they’d been covering guardianships, she and Katz had spent a couple classes geeking out together over the “flaws” in the “process.” Katz had practically lost his mind when Elizabeth named each step involved in filing for a guardianship of a minor, as well as her “ideas for improving the system.” He had gone on a five-minute rant about “the shocking number of deficiencies in Form PC586” (Elizabeth nodding vigorously the whole time) that ended with him accusing the rest of the class of not having enough life experience to be lawyers and pointing to Elizabeth as an “example” of what a “model law student” should be. (Elizabeth’s cheeks had been so pink with embarrassment and pride at being singled out.)

He didn’t push it though when she didn’t go on. 

Just turned off the engine and turned in his seat. He rested his head back on the head rest to look over at her doing the same back to him.

The parking garage was quiet and dark. It made it feel like they had their own little world of just the two of them sitting in the front seat of his car. 

She was nervous, he could tell. Maybe about the competition, maybe about being here after so many years. 

“Well, now you back,” he told her, “you ready?"

She seemed to be considering the question seriously.

“Yes. I think so,” she said finally, “you?”

“Always, darlin’,” he told her, overly easy and cocky to make her smile.

She laughed, “let’s go then.”

\-----

They made it all the way to the final round. 

They didn’t win. But by that point, neither of them really fucking cared. 

Because the other finalists were third-years, which meant they were graduating in a month. Which meant they weren’t eligible to be sent on to the regional competition. 

He realized at the same time as Elizabeth when they were the only team of 2Ls left. They were seated together in the auditorium listening to one of the organizers announce the results from the semi-finals. 

He felt her start to vibrate a little beside him. They had agreed to be chill while in public, whatever the announcement was (or, rather, he had _told_ her to _be chill_ and wait til they were alone to react). 

She reached out and put her hand on his leg, then started squeezing. He laced his fingers over top of hers and squeezed back. Half to remind her again to _be_ _chill_ , but half because he was excited too. 

As soon as they got out of the auditorium, Elizabeth tugged him down the hallway and pushed through a door to get into the stairwell. 

The second they were alone, she dropped any attempt at chill. 

“We did it! Chicago!” she whisper-shouted, “We _did_ it! I knew it! Can you believe it? Chicago!!”

He laughed. She was practically bouncing up and down. 

On impulse, he reached out and pulled her into a hug. She was stiff, but just for a second. Then she was throwing both arms around his neck and pushing in closer. He tightened his arms around her waist and leaned back, lifting her off her feet for a second. He could feel her laughing, her lips brushing against his neck and then his cheek as she tried to get her balance. 

They only had a few seconds before they had to go back out and report to the final round. 

He set her back down. She leaned back to look at him and for a second they just looked at each other, grinning.

Then she brought her arms back down to her side and stepped back a little. He pulled back too, but not before smoothing back her hair where he had mussed it all up, so she’d be all put together again before they went back out.

Her eyes were shining and she was still smiling as big as he had ever seen. 

All the time and effort over the semester seemed worth it, suddenly, if this was the result.

They nodded to each other, then left the stairwell together to head to the final round.

\-----

He waited in the Commons for Elizabeth to finish up their last final. He wanted to see what the plan was for when they both started their summer associate positions downtown. Before the Crim Pro final had started, she’d been bubbling over with pre-exam nervous ideas about when and where to meet to start studying for the MPRE and preparing for the Regionals.

He could have just texted – that weekend or sometime over the next week they’d have off before their summer jobs started – but there were only twenty minutes left in the exam anyway, so it just seemed easier to wait.

When Elizabeth finally walked out, she had the happy little flush that she always got when she thought she had nailed something. She beelined straight over when she saw him.

“Are you headed to the happy hour?” she asked him after they figured out their plans to meet. 

This was usually the point where she turned up her nose and ran away. But she didn’t make any move to leave. 

He figured what the hell, why not ask yet again. 

“You gonna go?” 

“Well. I don’t know. I wasn’t invited.” 

Was this why she had never gone? And what the hell, _he_ had asked her specifically, at least a couple times!

“Elizabeth. Darlin’. How you been thinkin’ these things come together all this time? Somebody picks a place, then ev’rybody tells ev’rybody. Then you just show. Nobody’s getting _embossed invitations with a hand-painted seal of the school_ in the mail!” 

She looked away from him quickly, and he narrowed his eyes. 

That wasn’t embarrassment in her face, it was guilt (and maybe triumph). He had suspected ever since the party last summer that Elizabeth had ordered fancy invitations for those Board of Visitors assholes to invite them to the party. _Despite him specifically telling her not to and also specifically telling her to just send them emails._

He had a feeling she’d just confirmed it. He resolved to get it out of her one way or the other later on at the happy hour when her guard was down. 

When they got to Finnegan’s, it was just as loud as he thought it would be. Packed too. It seemed everybody and their brother from their year was out celebrating two years down, one year to go. 

And it was shaping up to be a wild night. They’d already gotten pulled in to three rounds of shots.

They escaped to the bar to take a break and get refills. They stood side-by-side as they waited for their drinks, leaning back against the bar and facing out to the rest of their class. 

After awhile, he hooked his pinky around Elizabeth’s where their hands dangled close together and tugged to get her attention. 

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. 

“Real classy shit, yeah?” he asked her, tipping his chin to a table where a bunch of dudes from their class appeared to be having a Guinness-chugging contest. “See what you been missin’ all this time?” 

She laughed. “Hush.” She swung her hand a little, playfully, pinky still hooked around his. 

The door opened and some first-years from school came in. Dylan was with them, and he saw Garden’s head above the crowd too. 

He groaned internally. Finnegan’s must be where the 1L class had decided to come too after their last final. 

Elizabeth followed his eyes.   
  
“You know, I really wish you would be nice to Garden- _er_ ,” she gave him a little scowl when she saw him grin at her slip-up, “Rio. I’m serious!” 

“Well, that ain’t happenin’ so keep on wishing,” he told her. 

She shook her head a little, looking so cute, all half-tipsy, half-mournful. “I think he likes you.”

He scoffed. Sure he did.

“No. I _mean_ , I think he… _likes…_ you.” She said it significantly, leaning close in like she was telling him a secret. 

Wait, what? Did she mean?

“You sayin’ he’s gay?”

“Well, yes.” She blinked at him in confusion, “wait, you didn’t know that?” 

No. He didn’t know that.

“He told you that?” 

“The gay part or the liking you part?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Of course he told me he was gay. I _told_ you, I’m his _mentor_. I figured the rest out on my own,” she laughed a little, “you’re pretty much most of what we talk about.” 

He ran though the handful of times he’d ever even talked to the dude over the past year. And started to realize some of the odd shit he’d noticed now suddenly made sense.

Elizabeth watched his face, trying to read his expression. 

“You wouldn’t…?” she looked at him anxiously, “give him a hard time about it, would you?”

He shook his head. 

She smiled, “I didn’t think so.” 

They both watched as Dylan started to thread her way through the crowd towards them. 

“I’m going to go say hi to Gardner,” Elizabeth told him quickly, slipping away.   
  
“Hey buddy.” Rio swung his head around to see the bartender put his vodka down on the napkin in front of him. Then he pushed a bourbon across the bar. “For your girl.” 

Reflexively, he started to open his mouth, to tell the guy he had it wrong, that Elizabeth wasn’t his girl.

Then he shut it again. 

‘Cause she wasn’t, that was true.

But he wanted her to be. 

He could see it now. Suddenly, he could see it so clearly.   
  
Elizabeth in bed, driving around together, in his apartment, sitting in class, hanging at his mother’s house. 

He wanted all of it.  
  
And none of it was gonna happen. Not with the huge rock she always wore on her finger, that husband she was so in love with. 

Dylan had finally fought her way through the crowd. She wrapped her arms around his waist and went up on her tiptoes to be kissed. 

He got her a drink. Then sat there while she told him all about her Contracts final.

He watched Elizabeth as he nodded along. Watched her talk and laugh, as she moved from group to group.

Just sat there and watched her and thought about how deep the shit was that he was in. Realizing that he couldn’t see a single fucking way to make it right. 

Jesus. There really was nothing he hated more than when Gretchen was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for this chapter spinning out of control word-count wise, but at this point, who am I kidding. I am also cautiously optimistic that with the state of American democracy finally settling down and the holidays over, maybe I can step it up and actually get this done before Season 4! (Hope springs eternal!!).
> 
> Also, I'm not a huge music person but Can't Take My Eyes Off of You is the perfect Brio song in a universe where they are not trying to constantly murder each other (altho maybe it works for a murder-universe too, aka canon). These lyrics: https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/36037487/Frankie+Valli/Can%27t+Take+My+Eyes+Off+You!! (sobbing)
> 
> Thank you as always for all the encouragement and nice words - really makes me so happy.


	7. 2L - Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's summer time and the living is supposed to be easy so time to live it up before the last year of school.

Beth smiled when she saw him. 

She was already seated at the restaurant where they’d decided to meet for lunch. Outside, at a table on the patio, to take advantage of the June sun and the perfect balmy weather. 

She bounced a little in her seat, drumming her fingers on the table. They just had so much to talk about.

It had been almost two weeks since she had seen him. During the semester, it was rare that a day went by for her without Rio in it. They were in class together all week, and before class and after class, they were studying, eating, practicing. Before the Michigan competition, they had even started getting together on the weekends. And they texted when they weren’t together, kind of a lot of texting actually, even if it was mostly about school stuff. 

So to go from all that to not seeing him and barely talking to him for almost two weeks? It left her feeling at loose ends. 

Rio had headed to Canada the day after their last final. He had told her he needed to inspect some new products his uncle was thinking of importing. 

He had been gone for over a week. Then they had both started their summer associate positions at their respective firms, which had meant orientation and training and meetings. 

(When did he have time for Dylan, Beth often wondered, with two jobs and school and his family? And practicing all the time with Beth? He never mentioned Dylan, not once. But they had to have been dating for months, Beth knew, maybe even almost a year, if they had gotten together the night of the party last summer.) 

He was walking down the street towards her, but hadn’t seen her yet. It gave her a chance to run her eyes over him, take in his light gray suit so perfect for the summer, the crisp white shirt and pink tie contrasting so well with his skin. 

How was he so good-looking all the time? It didn’t matter how casually or formally he was dressed, he just always looked so good. 

When he reached the restaurant, Rio seemed to feel her watching him. He scanned across the patio until he landed on Beth. When their eyes met, he smiled, big enough that she could see it reach his eyes even from across the patio.

Beth smiled back and watched him make his way to her.

For a second before he sat down, she wondered if she should stand and hug him. That was silly, she knew. They certainly weren’t hugging during the school year when they saw each other every day! 

She busied herself with arranging her water glass and utensils to cover any awkwardness. 

He didn’t seem to notice anything weird though. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello.” 

He leaned back in his chair and ran his eyes over her.

“Like the suit,” he told her. 

It was a simple compliment, but he said it so appreciatively that it flustered her for a second. She _loved_ her new suit. It was almost the same gray as his and a perfect weight for the summer. And with the structured, nipped-in blazer and the wide-legged pants, she just felt so powerful in it. 

He had so many suits and he looked so good in all of them. Beth was so glad that this summer he’d see her dressed just as professionally as him. 

She smiled her thanks, but rushed to reassure him so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Don’t worry though,” she said, “I won’t wear this when we’re in Chicago. _Obviously_.” 

He looked genuinely confused. “How come?” 

She wanted to laugh. Gretchen had complained to Beth – several times – that Rio didn’t listen to her, and it looked like she had been right. 

“Because of what Gretchen said?” When he still looked puzzled, she prompted, “remember? About us possibly losing points from the judges in a competition if I’m not wearing a skirt?” 

“Wow, Elizabeth,” he shook his head mournfully. Then leaned forward and put on his mock lecture voice that drove her so _crazy_ , “I’m disappointed in you. Courts’ve been holdin’ since 1972 that girls are allowed to wear pants to school. You need to brush up on Title IX again this summer, re-learn a couple things.” 

Beth closed her eyes briefly, torn, as always, between strangling him and laughing. 

Sometimes she thought that Rio had only taken the Feminist Legal Theory Seminar so he could look for (and create) opportunities to tell her that he was a better feminist than she was. (Although, could that theory even legitimately be called a theory when Rio had directly said to her – several times over the semester – “Sorry that I’m just a better feminist than you, Elizabeth.”)

One time, she had been so fed up she had cornered him and asked if he realized that actually it was _Professor Michel_ who had the internalized gender bias? That a _true feminist_ , especially a _female_ professor teaching a class on _feminism_ at a _male-dominated_ law school trying to prepare students for entry into a _male-dominated_ profession, wouldn’t seek to center the _one male voice_ in the class over all the other female voices? That Rio was actually just getting the benefit of higher education’s institutionalized gender biases against women _yet again?_

(He had listened carefully to her rant, nodding along encouragingly while she had laid out her arguments, which Beth knew she had done both eloquently _and correctly_. But then when she’d finished triumphantly, he had just shaken his head sadly. “Damn,” he had whistled, “never heard you go that hard against a dude professor like Katz. Thought feminism was supposed to be about buildin’ each other up.” 

For a second, Beth had wanted to kill him.)

Still, as much as it irritated her, these little feminism tangents of his also made her want to laugh, seeing how much pleasure he took in bringing up the class. And he had obviously been paying attention, even if only for the purpose of trying to drive her crazy. The two of them had gotten the only two As in the class. 

But she wasn’t about to give him any credit for telling her what she _already knew_ about Title IX. 

“I’m sorry, dumb old me, I forgot.” She made her voice breathy and widened her eyes, blinking them big. For extra effect, she lifted her left hand and wound a finger around one of her curls, dipping her head bashfully. 

Beth expected him to hear him laugh or maybe to tell her to knock it off.

But there was nothing but silence. She looked back up to see him just staring, looking almost arrested.

She felt a bit uncertain suddenly. Did he think she was trying to flirt with him? She dropped her hand from her hair to rest back again on the table. His eyes followed the movement. 

She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back up to her face. “Seriously – don’t worry though. I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt us in the competition.” 

“Elizabeth,” he said, reaching out to tap his finger against her wrist and pausing long enough for her to cock her head to him, “fuck ‘em.” 

When she laughed, he smiled, looking pleased, “Seriously – wear what you want, darlin’.” 

She rolled her eyes but nodded like she agreed. Obviously, she wasn’t going to though. She wasn’t going to do anything that would cost them even one point. Besides, she couldn’t really blame him for not understanding. It truly was just easier for men. 

After they finished lunch and the plates had been cleared away, Beth wondered if it was time to start thinking about getting back to work. 

On the other hand, lunch hour seemed pretty flexible for the summer associates at her firm. They were actually encouraged to go out to lunch with different partners, to network and build connections. No-one would be looking for her for awhile. 

Rio didn’t seem to be in any hurry either. Beth figured it was probably the same at his firm.

When their waitress came by to ask if they wanted coffee, they both said yes. They had time, after all.

\-----

Three weeks into the summer, Beth still woke up every day just so over-the-moon excited to head into work. She wondered when it would end, when the novelty would wear off. But so far, she was just as eager every day as she had been the first day. 

Warrington, Perkins & Watkins, PLLC was one of the largest law firms in the Midwest, with almost 500 attorneys located in offices in Detroit, Chicago, Indianapolis, Columbus, and Milwaukee. The firm handled a mix of transactional and litigation matters across practice areas like real estate, labor and employment, business litigation, intellectual property, estate planning, and a dozen more specialties. 

Their Detroit office was the headquarters and biggest office. That meant the summer associate class that Beth was a part of had a dozen other law students, all rising 3Ls from Midwest law schools, all eager to make a good impression in the hopes of getting a job offer for the next year once they had graduated and taken the bar exam. 

Beth knew from her research that most law students ended up accepting job offers from the firm where they spent the summer between their second year and third year. It wasn’t a requirement, and it wasn’t a given. You could get offered a clerkship with a judge or federal or state agency and end up taking that instead. You could decide the firm or the practice area wasn’t a good fit and apply elsewhere. The firm could decide you weren’t what they were looking for and decline to make an offer.

Beth had heard it likened to a courtship, the engagement period before saying your vows. The summer was a chance for the student and the firm to feel each other out, present their best faces to each other, and then decide if they wanted to commit for the long haul. Or at least for the near future.

That meant Warrington, Perkins & Watkins was trying to attract her, just like she was trying to prove herself to them. It meant the pay was more than generous, with the summer associates earning more per week than the firm’s army of experienced paralegals and legal secretaries, without possessing even a fraction of the support staff’s practical knowledge. It meant a summer associate “mixer” calendar filled with different happy hours and firm events, all designed to demonstrate that WPW attorneys took the “play hard” part just as seriously as the “work hard” part. 

She wasn’t naïve. Beth knew that if she accepted a position as a first-year associate after graduation, that day-to-day life at WPW wouldn’t be like the summer associate life, all cherry-picked research assignments designed to be compelling and cushy 9-5 hours with long lunch breaks as different partners invited her out in turn, each trying to convince her that their practice area was the most exciting. 

But it felt so good to be making real money. Beth had had to take out both private and federal student loans to cover law school. She wouldn’t need to begin making payments on her federal loans until after graduation. But for the private loans that had covered her books and expenses, she would have to start making payments during her last year. 

And there were so many things she still wanted to buy. Another suit for competitions and interviews, maybe dark blue like the one Rio had that he always wore with his baby blue shirt. And maybe she could even get a laptop. 

It was just so nice finally not to have to worry about money for awhile. 

And it was just so exciting to be doing real, substantive legal work, even at the most junior level.

She had been placed in WPW’s business litigation practice group. The group represented corporate clients in all manner of business disputes, litigating breach of contract and business tort claims like tortious interference, corporate fraud, and unfair competition, in both state and federal courts. 

It was exactly where Beth had hoped to be. The group was the largest practice group at WPW and the one that generated the most revenue for the firm. It had the reputation of being where superstars were born. It was the group that Gardner’s father had headed up before he left the firm to join the bench as a judge. 

She was determined to make a good impression. Already, she stood out, though not quite in the way she wanted. Beth was the only female summer associate in the group. 

Her direct supervisor, a senior associate named Alex Bennett, was one of the only three female attorneys in the group. Beth suspected that the firm had paired her with Alex intentionally, so that she could get a “woman’s perspective” on firm life at WPW. Beth didn’t mind at all. Alex was cool and competent and reminded Beth strongly of Gretchen. She was full of stories and tips on how to make it work, everything from how she had made the deliberate choice to go by “Alex” instead of “Alexandra” professionally, to how to dress and stand in court. 

Alex’s frankness didn’t surprise Beth. She already knew women were underrepresented in litigation positions in general and in business litigation specifically. Beth had read an article once about how when polled anonymously, hiring partners at big firms admitted they were more reluctant to hire women for litigation practices. A firm could spend thousands of dollars in training an associate, only to have that associate leave after just a few years in search of reduced hours or a more fair “work-life” balance. And usually when that happened, the associate who left was a woman. The article advised hopeful female litigation associates to downplay their home and personal lives, to minimize any perception that they might be more interested in family over firm. 

Beth took that advice to heart. She was careful never to mention a “husband” in conversation.

And she was careful to remove her wedding rings every morning on her way to work and only put them back on at night when she got home (except for the few times she had forgotten, but she had put them back on as soon as she had remembered). 

It was a lie of omission, maybe, but only a small one. And surely if there were ever a situation where the ends justified the means, this was the one. She really really wanted to get an offer for after graduation. 

\-----

Sitting there in that moment, Beth couldn’t remember the last time she had ever felt so uncomfortable. 

It had nothing to do with her chair, which was very comfortable, all squishy leather with soft fat pillows. But then, everything in Rio’s apartment looked comfortable. 

Including Rio.

He was lying on the matching leather couch in front of her, head propped up on another fat green pillow at one end with his long legs stretched out to the other end. The Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination practice test book rested propped up and open on his stomach. 

Beth had meant what she said when she told him that they needed to take the MPRE seriously. Yes, it was just the “bar exam-lite” with only 60 questions and only taking two hours instead of two days. Still, almost a quarter of the people who took it failed. Beth was determined that they wouldn’t be those people. 

So it had made sense to come up with a study schedule that had them meeting twice a week to study. And it made sense to meet somewhere quiet to study. The law library was closed for the summer for renovations and there were limited options elsewhere on campus with summer classes and bar exam prep classes going on. Their café could get loud at busy times. 

But you could have knocked Beth over with a feather when she had asked Rio at lunch where he thought they should meet and he had answered back, just as casually, “my apartment.”

His apartment. Like it was just so obvious. 

“Your apartment?” she had repeated, dumbly. 

“Yeah, it’s close to school, close to our offices.” He had been looking at her closely. When she hadn’t immediately responded, he had asked, “why? You wanna do your place instead?” 

_Her_ house? God, no. Dean was there. What if he came home while they were studying and interrupted them? 

“You, um, live alone? I mean, you have your own place?” Beth had stalled for time, trying to feel out the roommate situation, whether there would be _anyone else_ there. 

“Uh, yeah. What, you think I still live with my mother?” He had laughed at her expression, “Damn, Elizabeth, how old you think I am?”

(Twenty-four. That’s how old he was. He was 24. She had learned that at his birthday party and had been trying to erase it from her brain ever since.) 

It wasn’t like she had never been in a single guy’s apartment. She’d gone to visit Dean at Michigan State several times. Dean’s various dorm rooms and his off-campus apartment hadn’t looked anything like this. 

Dean’s bachelor style had leaned towards mismatched furniture and movie posters, gym equipment and large piles of sports paraphernalia, dishes piled in the sink. 

Rio’s apartment was neat as a pin. Everything was green and gray, leather and dark brown wood. It was minimalist, but in that intentional way, not the “I haven’t figured out what to put on the walls yet” way. She wanted to wander around looking at everything. It was such a glimpse into who Rio was.

(There were no traces of Dylan. Not a one. No bras hanging over the shower curtain, no XS hoodie mixed in on the coat rack. No framed pictures, not even one casually pinned to the fridge.)

She was being silly, she knew. Rio was obviously unbothered by this whole thing. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, for Heaven’s sake. He looked just as comfortable as could be lounging sprawled out in his soft-looking gray t-shirt and sweats. While Beth felt like she had a pole straight up her back with how straight and rigid she was sitting. 

She gave herself a mental shake and told herself to be chill. This was totally fine and normal and she needed to act cool. 

“You sure you don’t want a drink or somethin?” he asked her again. 

“I said I’m fine,” she said firmly, “do another one.”

Rio gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push it. He rolled back over on his back and started to read the next problem aloud. 

Beth tried to concentrate on his voice, determined not to look at his stomach, where the movement of the book as he read was causing his t-shirt to ride up. 

“’Kay, here we go: Larry Lawyer represents David Defendant on burglary charges. David tells Larry that on the night of the crime, David was with his father all night. Larry Lawyer interviews David’s father, who confirms the alibi. However, Larry strongly suspects based on his years of practice that both David and his father are lying – _Jesus_ , the _drama_ – Larry warns both David and his father about lying under oath at trial, but both insist on testifying. Can Larry Lawyer call David Defendant or his father, or both, as witnesses during trial?” 

Rio turned his head to the side on the pillow to look over at her. “Four possible answers, you ready?” 

Beth nodded her head, concentrating fiercely. He turned back to the book. 

“Aight. Is it A – No, for _both_ David _and_ his father?”

“B – _Yes_ for David, _no_ for the father?” 

“C – Yes, for _both_ David _and_ his father?” 

“Or D – _No_ as to David, but _yes_ for the father?” 

Beth looked down at her lap as she gnawed at her lip, thinking fiercely. She tried to put herself in the rulemakers’ position, like Rio kept telling her you should.

It really seemed like she should say A. If a lawyer really thought that both of his witnesses were going to lie under oath during their testimony, then surely the rulemakers would want you to say that you shouldn’t call them as witnesses, right? 

But maybe it was B? Maybe you were allowed to give your client the benefit of the doubt but not someone you didn’t represent, like the client’s father? 

She looked up again to see him rolled over to his side, watching her expectantly. Rolling over had made his shirt ride up even more, exposing the hard muscles of his stomach. She kept her eyes trained solely on his face. 

“A,” she said, with confidence that she in no way felt. 

He shook his head at her answer, “pretty sure it’s gonna be C, darlin’.” 

“C!” Beth exclaimed indignantly, “How can it be C! You said Larry Lawyer – don’t laugh, that’s his name! – ‘strongly suspects’ both the client and his father are _lying_! _Strongly_ suspects!”

He shrugged or tried to as much as he was able while still lying prone on the couch with his head propped up in one hand. “So what. Suspectin’ ain’t knowin’, _strongly_ or otherwise.” 

“But it’s a felony to suborn perjury!”

He grinned at that. _It’s a felony to suborn perjury_ , she watched him repeat silently, closing his eyes and mouthing it with a fussy little shake of his head, like he thought she was deliberately trying to use “fancy words” or something when that was the actual legal definition! Which he _very well knew_ as they had covered it in both Criminal Law _and_ Professional Responsibility both first year and second year!

“Oh, I’m so _sorry_ – should I have said ‘get your witness on the stand to drop some lies, yo’ instead?” she asked witheringly, trying to mimic his deep, raspy voice. 

He looked delighted at her attempt at imitation. “Come on now, Elizabeth,” he laughed, “don’t be like that. You blamin’ the messenger over here!” 

“You don’t even _know_ it’s C, you’re just guessing!”

“Yeah, that’s true, but it’s still gonna be C.”

Beth wanted to stamp her foot. She had the Rules of Professional Responsibility all but memorized, while half the time Rio seemed to not even remember there _were_ Rules. Beth bet that if she asked him right now, he couldn’t even reliably say what MPRE stood for! Yet now that it was time to get tested on how to _apply_ those Rules, every instinct she had with the practice test problems seemed wrong, while he seemed to grasp it all intuitively. It was _infuriating_. 

“You okay over there?” 

She looked up to see him still staring at her and smiling, with that look on his face he so often had, like she was his favorite sitcom and everything she did or said was funny. With effort, she made herself relax and unclench, suddenly aware that with her arms crossed and scowling, she looked like a sulky toddler. 

“Yes, I’m _fine_.” 

“So you ready for me to check the answer now?”

“Go ahead!” _Please let it not be C, please don’t let it be C._

Rio flipped to the answer key at the back of the book and ran his finger down the page. When his finger finally stopped, his expression didn’t change. He just looked back up and met her eyes calmly. 

C! This time she did stamp her foot. That made no sense!

“Elizabeth. Darlin’. Think about this. Who you think wrote these rules?”

She knew this one.

“The American Bar Association issued the Model Rules of Professional Conduct to provide a set of rules and commentaries on the ethical and professional responsibilities of members of the legal profession in the United States,” she recited automatically. _Correctly_.

Rio closed his eyes like she was causing him physical pain. 

“Try again,” he said, eyes still closed. “ _Who_ wrote these rules?” 

She was exasperated – she had just told him! 

“I don’t know what you want me to say! The ABA did!” When he still didn’t open his eyes or respond, she burst out, “They’re a group of lawyers from all over the country!”

He opened his eyes again. “Exactly – lawyers! _Lawyers_ wrote ‘em. Lawyers ain’t gonna write the rules so other lawyers can get in trouble. So that _we_ can get in trouble! It’s all a game, darlin’, can’t you see that?” 

Beth closed her eyes in frustration. This was so hard, suddenly. In a way that studying for hours straight or writing a 20-page brief never was for her. She hated when things were hard. 

“You wanna quit?” 

She opened her eyes to see him looking at her thoughtfully, face expressionless. Determination washed over her then, looking into his eyes. If _he_ could understand it, then so could she. She just needed to try harder. 

“No,” she said stoutly, “do another one.” 

He smiled big at that and rolled back over on his pillow, propping the book back up again on his stomach. “’kay, Judge Jackson is married to Lisa Lawyer. Lisa Lawyer filed a personal injury case on behalf of Paula Plaintiff – what is it with these names, _damn_ – in the court where Judge Jackson sits…”

\-----

“Not all of ‘em are assholes.” That’s how Rio had described the lawyers and other summer associates at Erickson, Hart when he asked if Beth wanted to come to his firm’s pre-Fourth of July holiday happy hour. 

Which she had deduced meant – in Rio-speak – that he actually might even like one or two of them. 

Erickson, Hart was smaller than her firm, but just as prestigious. It was a boutique law firm, focusing solely on corporate legal processes like mergers and acquisitions, securities offerings, bankruptcies, and patents. It was specialized, technical work, and its attorneys had the reputation of being aggressive and tough. 

Everyone she’d met at the happy hour seemed perfectly charming though. They reminded her a lot of Rio. And it was just so interesting meeting other lawyers with different practice areas from her own firm’s. 

Rio had introduced her to everyone she met as his “friend.” It had given her a little jolt of happy surprise to hear him say it so casually over and over again. Although. She did wish just a little that he had said “partner.” It had more weight somehow. Rio had tons of friends, she knew. But Beth was his only partner. 

The happy hour started winding down while she was telling him all about the trial she had gotten to sit in on all week. The partner Beth was working for was defending a client sued for breach of warranty and defective design, with damages claimed of almost two million dollars. Beth had been researching pre-trial motions and helping organize witness exhibits for the past two weeks. 

Her phone buzzed while she was in the middle of describing the plaintiff’s cross-examination. Beth pulled it out of her purse to check, then began to smile as she read through the text. 

“You gotta get home?” She looked up to see him looking away from her, focused on the TV over the bar.

“Home? Oh, no. It’s Ruby.” 

“Yeah?” he turned back to her and matched her smile, “how’s she doin’?” 

“Good, but ready to pop.”

“When’s she due?”

“The Fourth, if you can believe it. A little Yankee Doodle girl.” Beth read through the next couple messages as they popped up. “She’s asking if I’m still downtown – she’s actually only a couple blocks away. There’s this bakery a little ways up on Shelby Street that has the best cupcakes…She says she’s getting two, one for her, one for baby Sara.” 

He laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. His suit jacket was slung over the back of his bar stool and he had undone his tie and the top couple buttons of his shirt. Beth loved seeing him so loose and relaxed like this. 

They still had so much left to talk about. He was going to tell her about the venture capital deal he’d been working on with one of the partners at his firm for a new tech company based in Detroit that was set to go public. 

She bit her lip, considering. He’d probably say no. But. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? And he had asked her to his happy hour so it was polite to return the favor, right? And Ruby was always asking about her “school friends.” 

“She’s asking me to come meet her,” she cleared her throat, “do you want to come too?” 

He did.

\-----

Rio was waiting for her in the lobby of the MPRE testing center when she walked out of the testing room. 

She had watched him turn his own test in twenty minutes earlier, tipping his chin towards the outside and winking at her as he walked by her desk. 

Beth had just given him a disapproving look and lowered her head back pointedly over her own test sheet. Just like at school with their exams, Rio seemed to take any type of testing situation as a personal challenge to complete it as quickly as possible. 

Like it was some kind of race that he won by turning in his paper before her!

Beth knew her way was better – take every second of time allotted and use it to check and double-check all her answers – but she’d given up trying to convince him of that. (Still, she had felt a very deep sense of personal satisfaction when they’d compared their Criminal Procedure finals from last semester and found that Beth had scored two points higher. This had given her just the opening she’d been waiting for to observe “casually” to Rio that maybe if he could have just sat still for fifteen more minutes, he could have gotten those extra two points. She still laughed when she remembered the look on his face.)

He grinned when he saw her. 

“There she is,” he called, hopping up from his seat, “so…what’d you think?”

“I feel good!” she told him. 

And she did. All their studying had definitely paid off. She’d recognized many of the scenarios from the practice problems they’d done and had been able to put herself in the position of the rulemakers and figure out the correct answer for the rest of the questions. 

“I used you as my model the entire time,” she told him.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, pleased.

“Yes, I just thought to myself, if I were _Rio_ instead of a _good person_ , which answer would I choose? Then I picked that one!” She watched his face, eager to catch his reaction to her joke. 

His smile stayed mostly in place, but it dropped out of his eyes.

The change in atmosphere made her blink a little. She had only been teasing. She had just meant that she had taken to heart what he said about lawyers writing the rules to make sure they would best stay out of trouble. 

Sometimes it felt to Beth like she stepped wrongly with him, said something that disappointed him, maybe even offended him. It felt different than all the times when she disagreed with him on some case or argument or what type of canape they should order for the party. Then Rio was quick to tell her just exactly how wrong she was (even though _he_ was usually the one who was wrong), all sharp and forceful and hot. 

But times like these were different. He went cold somehow. He went away. And she couldn’t even understand why. 

It usually made her go cold too. Quiet, indifferent. She was very good at that too.

But this time she tried to keep going. 

“I just meant – I did what we talked about,” she offered, “that’s all I meant.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” he told her, looking away. 

The moment stretched awkwardly. She didn’t know what else to say. 

Then he gave himself a little shake and turned back to her, “don’t sweat it. You still wanna grab lunch?”

\-----

With the MPRE over, they could turn their complete focus to the competition in Chicago. It was to be hosted at DePaul University, right smack dab in the middle of downtown. Sixteen teams would compete, all rising 3Ls, all either winners or the highest placing team at their qualifying competitions at Midwest law schools. 

The competition rules required each team to submit a written brief, then deliver 30 minutes of oral argument defending their position. The fact pattern centered around another Fourth Amendment search and seizure, only this time instead of a search involving a home, the problem focused on whether the police had violated the defendant’s constitutional rights by attaching a GPS tracking device to his vehicle. It was a fascinating question of what happens when emerging technology runs straight into traditional case law, and they spent hours arguing over how to present their arguments most effectively.

Every time Beth found another case that might be helpful for their argument, every time she opened her binder to study the case facts, every time she edited a section of their brief, she thought again about how glad she was to have Rio for a partner. For all that he could be the most irritating person she ever met, there wasn’t another person at school that she would rather have been with, to work together, to go to Chicago together. 

Their styles complemented each other perfectly. She knew he found the writing requirements tedious and boring, while she loved the puzzle of finding just the right perfect words to articulate their points. He hated the rigidness of the competitions, the artificial formality of it all, whereas she viewed the rules and structure as weapons to be wielded. 

But Rio saw the big picture and could craft a compelling argument in a way she knew she couldn’t quite match. (Yet). He could pull together threads from a dozen different cases and weave them together to present a novel and creative argument to defend their position, while Beth knew she sometimes got caught too far down in the weeds in dogged pursuit of the one perfect case that would give them everything they needed.

His memory amazed her sometimes. He could cite facts and key holdings from obscure cases seemingly from the top of his head, even if getting him to cite the court where the opinion issued from or the judge who wrote it was knowledge he stubbornly refused to retain. 

And he was best on his feet, never fazed or caught off-guard by the judges’ interruptions, his deep voice always compelling and commanding. 

They talked about the Michigan competition all the time, comments the judges had made in their evaluations, arguments or styles other teams had used effectively that they could try, which arguments had worked best and which were weaker.

They never talked about their first competition, the intramural competition. Never. Not after the debrief at Lucky’s. It was almost like that competition had never even happened. As though they had both mutually (and silently) agreed that their shared competition history together had begun in Ann Arbor with only a blank slate before that. 

But Beth still thought about it. 

It had been the first week in her new house. Between classes and studying and practicing, the house was still a chaos of unpacked boxes. She hadn’t been able to find a charger so had left her phone to charge overnight in Dean’s car. 

She had stayed up until almost 2 am, going over her notes, practicing in front of the mirror. When her alarm rang the next morning, she had headed straight for the shower, then took the time to dress carefully, feeling like she was putting on her armor with the suit she had worn for the competition her first year, the one she had missed. 

Dean had promised to drive her to school. They were still working out what they were going to do with getting Beth a car of her own from the dealership. When they had lived in the city, it hadn’t been too much of an issue to get by with just Dean’s car, but now that they were in the suburbs, it was a hassle. Beth had made a mental note to raise the topic again with Dean.

But when she had walked into the kitchen expecting to find Dean, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the kitchen, he wasn’t even in the house. Beth had run to the front door to find his car gone from the driveway. With her cell phone inside. 

She’d had to rush next door, to bang on the door of a neighbor she hadn’t even officially met yet other than to wave to, to ask to use their phone to call him. She still cringed whenever she thought of what the neighbor must think of her, showing up on the doorstep at 7:30 am on a Saturday morning dressed in a suit, frantically begging for a phone. 

When Dean had finally picked up, she’d had no time for his immediate explanations about heading to the dealership early to get a head-start on inventory or his excuses that he thought her “school thing” was _next_ weekend. She knew she couldn’t count on him to get back immediately. She had all but hung up on him in her haste to call a cab to pick her up. 

She had paced out front of the house waiting for the cab, the ten minutes it had taken feeling like ten hours. Then the entire ride to school had been a blur, her chest clenching tighter and tighter with each passing minute. What if she were too late? What if she missed it, again, and this time with Rio counting on her?

Then she had been rushing to the classroom for their first round, half-afraid she was going to break an ankle running in her heels but just so desperate to make it. When she had turned the corner to see Rio waiting for her in the hall, standing there looking so solid and strong, the relief had been so fierce she could almost taste it. 

She had made it. It would all be okay now. 

Beth wasn’t a crier. Not since childhood when she had first realized how useless it was. But when she had stood there outside that classroom with him, his breath warm in her face, his voice low in her ears, it had taken everything she had in her not to start crying in front of him. 

She had spent so many hours proving she was a good partner. Trying to track down every argument or piece of research that might possibly help them. Writing and re-writing their brief, the area where she knew she was strongest. 

At Lucky’s, she had told him just how it was important to her, forcing herself to make an admission she never would have to anyone else, to lay herself bare in a way she usually found it almost impossible to do for anyone else but Ruby. 

He hadn’t said it back, hadn’t said it was important to him too, sitting there at the bar. He hadn’t said much of anything. He had just nodded. 

But Rio had had a lot to say in the hallway, and she remembered every word, every gesture. The contempt that had been in his face and in his voice when he told her all the things she already knew. That he didn’t need her, she was only a charity case to him. With his voice so soft, like she wasn’t even good enough to yell at. 

It had gotten better, of course. After that worst moment in the hallway, and then her terrible performance in the competition itself, it had gotten better. Lucky’s repaired things between them a little, and then they had patched over all the ripped seams more and more as time went on.

But Beth didn’t forget. It had all just proved again what she had always known to be true. No matter how hard you tried to be perfect, to make everything perfect – all it took was one mistake and you could lose everything. 

She’d just have to keep trying, to be even better. 

And she kept on wondering why exactly Rio was doing all this. It wasn’t important to him, the way it was to her. He was competitive, sure, and would do anything to win, to be the best. But she knew him well enough by now to know that being able to say he won a law school moot court competition was not highest on his list of priorities. 

She wondered sometimes if he was just doing all this because it amused him, because _she_ amused him. 

And then she wondered what would happen if he ever stopped being amused. 

\-----

Beth had thought about inviting him from the moment she saw the calendar listing out all the mixer events that her firm was hosting for its summer associates. 

She had no trouble setting up study schedules for them or hounding him to meet for extra practice time. That was work. And yes, they met often for lunch, but they talked about classes and their jobs at least part of the time. 

But this? She had to admit, it really was only tangentially law-related, more… _fun-related_ , if anything. 

She wondered if maybe it wasn’t appropriate to ask him. 

But Rio just made the most sense to invite, she argued with herself. He was at a big firm too and he’d probably love a chance to network with other lawyers, just like he had asked her to his happy hour to do the same! 

And who else could she bring really? They were supposed to bring a plus-one, encouraged to, in fact. (WPW was one big happy family! The more, the merrier!) 

Even if Ruby hadn’t just given birth literally three weeks ago, she was out due to hating all sports on general principle. Annie was working. And Saturdays were so busy down at the dealership, why bother Dean with it?

Rio just made the most sense to invite. Also, since he had asked her to his firm’s happy hour, she should return the favor so there wouldn’t be anything owing there, right? 

And when she had mentioned – casually – that her firm had bought out a section at the Tigers game next weekend and he had nodded, she just decided to go ahead and offer – still casually, of course – the extra ticket, but only if he didn’t have anything better to do. He hadn’t made a big deal at all when he said yes, which had reassured her that this was the normal type of _quid pro quo_ of classmates helping each other out. Just like she had thought. 

They arranged to meet before the game at the giant tiger statue outside Comerica Park.

Her eyes found him immediately as she approached the stadium. He was perched up on one of the tiger’s huge paws, wearing a black t-shirt and white basketball shorts. Beth had never seen him in shorts before. 

He seemed to sense her eyes on him, looking up and finding her in the crowd when she was still too far away to call to him. He jumped down off the tiger paw immediately and walked towards her. 

When he was a few feet away, he stopped, then looked her up and down slowly, taking her in, a slow smile breaking out on his face. 

Beth looked down at herself, a little uncertain. It wasn’t like she spent a lot of time ( _any time_ ) at baseball games, but she’d tried to put together the best outfit to look like she did. The Tigers’ colors were navy blue and white, she knew. So she had paired her denim skirt with an old Tigers t-shirt of Annie’s. It was too big on Annie and maybe just a touch too tight in the chest on Beth, but she had read it was important to wear something with the team name to show you were a true fan. She wore her blue sneakers with little white bobby socks and had topped the whole ensemble off with a Tigers baseball cap she had borrowed from Stan (which was a little too big but she thought she could still make it work). 

Maybe it was too much?

When she looked back up though, he was still smiling warmly, his lips quirking slightly. 

“Very authentic,” he told her.

They were the first ones to the section of seats that her firm had bought out. They sat down together at the end of a row, facing out to the field where players were running back and forth, still warming up. 

For a few minutes, neither spoke. Just faced out to the field watching the players. The sun was bright overhead and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect summer day. 

Beth felt almost nervous, conscious suddenly of his bare leg bouncing gently next to her own, their arms almost touching on their shared arm rest. It was odd. She spent more time talking with Rio than almost anyone else. There were a hundred things they could talk about _now_ , why couldn’t she think of any? 

She wondered what he was thinking. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna get a beer. You want one?” 

She nodded gratefully. 

He signaled to one of the vendors in the aisle down the stairs at the bottom of their section. 

She reminded herself that this was just like any other time they had met up, hung out, been together in class. Besides, she had specifically prepared for this moment. 

Now was the time. 

Beth cleared her throat. “I really hope Maroth has a good game today,” she announced. Casually. 

She knew Maroth was scheduled to be the starting pitcher for the Tigers for the day’s game. She was almost positive she was pronouncing the name correctly. 

Beth had studied the Sports section of _The Detroit News_ for over an hour that morning. Most of it had gone over her head but she had tried to pull together as many facts as she could so she could show Rio she could talk intelligently about the game. She had written the key facts down in her notebook so she could retain them better, although obviously she couldn’t pull out her notebook to read them off in front of him. 

Rio hummed a _yeah_ in agreement, attention focused on the vendor next to him passing him a bag of popcorn then pouring their beers into big plastic cups.

“Maroth had a very rough outing last time,” she offered to his profile. That’s what one of the sports columnists had written (repeatedly, to the point that Beth wondered if she should write a letter to the Sports Editor about the need for better copyediting. Just because it was the Sports section didn’t mean it shouldn’t be held to the same standards as the rest of the paper). 

“Yeah, for real,” Rio agreed, looking at her impressed for a second, before turning back to the vendor to hand him his money, “no excuse losin’ like that to KC…thanks, keep the change, man.”

This was going so much better than Beth had expected. Emboldened, she pressed on. 

“If Maroth can increase his era, we might actually be looking at a pennant race this year.” That was almost a direct quote from the article she had read.

Rio turned back to her, handing her one of the beers. He looked a little blank. 

“Increase his errors?” he asked. 

“Increase his _era_ ,” she stressed, “Maroth’s era is 4.48 as of this morning.” She wasn’t precisely sure of the context but she was 100% sure the Sports section had said it was 4.48. Beth had chanted it to herself several times on the way to the stadium so she would remember it. 

For a second, Rio still looked confused, gnawing a little on his lip as he studied her. Then, abruptly, his face cleared. He smiled, suddenly and quickly, before wiping his expression clean and nodding solemnly. He tilted the popcorn bag towards her. 

She squinted at him, ignoring the popcorn. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his beer and looking out over the field. It looked like he still wanted to smile though.

She wasn’t going to let this slide. 

“Rio, what?” she asked again, then tugging on his shorts when he still wouldn’t look at her, “what? Tell me!” 

When his grin slipped out a little more, she insisted, “His era _is_ 4.48! I’m sure that’s right! I read it in the Sports section this morning!” 

He relented then, smiling fully and turning his head back to her. 

“Yeah, the number’s right, mamí. Just that most people say it E – R – A,” he pronounced each letter slowly – and separately – “it stands for Earned Run Average.” 

Oh. Beth had thought it was weird that the word was always capitalized whenever it appeared, but had figured that was because it was the most important statistic.

“So, tell me, what you think he should do to _increase_ his ERA?” Rio asked her. He had turned in his seat to face her fully, resting his elbow on the seat rest between them and propping up his head in his hand. He scooped up a big handful of popcorn.

Beth studied him cautiously, nibbling on her lower lip. She literally had no idea. But no way she could tell him that. 

He kept watching her expectantly, munching on the popcorn.

Well, really, how hard could it be to figure out or guess the right answer? It had to be something about scoring points, right? That was really the only way to increase an average, that was just basic math. She could still salvage this. 

“Hit more home runs, of course,” she told him finally, confidently. 

This time, he laughed out loud. Even though Beth hated to be laughed at, it was so nice to see him laugh. Rio laughed with his whole body, shoulders shaking, hand covering his eyes. 

Still, it wasn’t _that_ funny. It had probably been a very close guess! She poked him on the knee to get him to stop. 

“Ow. ‘Kay, ‘kay,” he dropped his hand from his eyes and tilted his head, eyes twinkling, “that article you read say Maroth needs to increase his ERA or _improve_ it?” 

Beth floundered for a second. Increase, improve, what was the difference?

He saw the truth in her face and took pity on her.

“Elizabeth, he’s a pitcher for an American League team. That means he _don’t_ bat. Means his goal is to have _no_ runs scored on him – _earned_ on him – while he’s up there pitchin’. That’s how he _improves_ his ERA – by making it go down.”

Oh. Beth nodded slowly. She guessed that made sense. 

He was still smiling, watching her face closely. 

“You really don’t know nothin’ about baseball, do you?” 

Well. Beth wouldn’t say she knew _nothing_ about baseball. She had spent an hour reading about it that morning, after all! And she hated when Rio mocked her. Her knee-jerk reaction was to disagree with him. 

But. She inspected him. He didn’t look like he was making fun of her. His smile was warm and he just looked happy. 

She shook her head no. 

“’kay then, I’m gonna teach you.” 

He tilted the popcorn bag back towards her. 

This time, she scooped out a big handful and settled in to listen.

\-----

She loved to listen to Rio talk. It wasn’t just his voice itself, so deep and rich – she had always loved that even when she still half-hated him back in their first semester. It was how he talked, what he said. He could be so funny sometimes, alternating between sarcastic and playful. 

She had to admit he was a good teacher. He explained the game clearly and well and with obvious passion. During the breaks between innings, he broke down the big plays for her to explain what they’d just seen. He used their two legs pressed together as the “field” with pieces of popcorn as the bases, tracing his finger around the “diamond” to explain why the players made the moves they did. 

Their section of seats had filled up around them, with lawyers from her firm, their families, and the rest of Beth’s summer associate class. She introduced Rio again and again, watching him smile and talk with her colleagues in that easy, charming way he had. 

“Gardner didn’t want to come to this?” Rio asked her, when they’d settled back in their seats after the seventh inning stretch. 

_His name is_ _Gardner_ , Beth started to correct automatically. Then stopped herself. He had said it correctly. That was new. She had thought Rio’s favorite thing in the world was to say “Garden” (alternating sometimes with “ _fuckin’_ Garden” when he really wanted to annoy her).

“I’m not sure?” It was an odd question. She didn’t think WPW former partners’ sons would have been included in the invite list for the firm’s mixer events.

“You didn’t wanna ask him?”

Oh, that’s what he meant. Although it was still an odd question. Gardner was sweet and Beth loved being his mentor, but she couldn’t imagine spending the afternoon with him outside of school. It wasn’t like she had a lot in common with a 23-year-old boy. 

“Oh, no, I think he’s pretty busy this summer.” 

Last she had heard, Gardner was spending the summer in Grand Rapids, interning with another judge who also presided in the Western District of Michigan alongside his father. But she didn’t want to mention Gardner’s father (a _federal_ judge) to Rio and get him all riled up again, now that it seemed like he was finally letting go of his grudge against Gardner. 

“Yeah? How’s his party plannin’ going?” 

She resisted the urge to glare at him. He continued shucking his peanut shell, blinking at her innocently. He was looking for a reaction, she knew, and she wasn’t going to give it to him. 

She had made the mistake of telling Rio before an SBA Meeting last semester that she was going to make a motion to return control of the New Student Welcome Party back to the rising 3L class. That would mean Beth would get to plan it, for the second year in a row. 

No, Rio had told her flatly. When she had sputtered at him and reminded him _he_ didn’t even have to help out this time because _she_ was the Class Representative, not him, he had told her she was taking on too much. Then he had actually roused himself for once at an SBA Meeting to get enough “nay” votes to vote with him to have her motion defeated, which still enraged her every time she thought about it!

“Good,” she told him sweetly, “I gave him a copy of my binder with all _my_ ideas from last year.” 

“Oh yeah? _Your_ ideas?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “Gardner really liked _my_ suggestion on limiting the alcohol to beer and wine. And he’s going to order the same _embossed invitations_ to the _Board of Visitors_ from that place _I_ recommended to him.” 

Beth watched his face change as he dropped the angelic boyish face in favor of a hint of a glower. She laughed and reached for the bag of peanuts in his lap. 

He moved quickly though to pull the bag away, holding it up high above his head out of her reach. She started to fuss at him for being such a bad sport. 

But then she saw it. With his arm stretched out, his sleeve had pulled up high, exposing his upper arm. 

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo!” 

She reached out and gently pushed his sleeve up a little bit more. It looked like black bars running like a ladder up his triceps. Fascinated, she ran her fingernail gently across one, admiring the way the inky black looked against his skin. He must have been ticklish because goosebumps formed on his skin as she watched.

His sleeve dropped down again to cover the tattoos as he lowered the bag. Or would have, if her finger weren’t still holding it up. She dropped her hand and looked back at his face to find him watching her steadily.

“Haven’t seen too many tattoos?” 

She narrowed her eyes. He always thought she was so uncool.

“Actually, _I_ have a tattoo,” she told him haughtily. 

“Yeah?” he looked intrigued. “What is it?”

“Not telling.” She took advantage of his distraction and snatched the bag of peanuts out of his hand.

“Come on.”

“No.” She turned back imperiously to the field. 

“Tell me.”

“No.” She popped a peanut in her mouth and made a big show of munching it and ignoring him in favor of the game. He reached for the bag back but she held it out of his reach. 

“Elizabeth. Tell me.”

“Rio. No.” She turned her head and tapped one finger to her chin, pretending to think hard, “You know, actually I think in Spanish, that’s also pronounced ‘ _no_.’”

He laughed out loud at that, but then just looked even more determined. 

“’Kay, then _where_ is it?” 

It struck her then that she hadn’t exactly thought this through. His tattoo was on his arm. Her tattoo was low on her hip hidden by her underwear. He was starting to get that dogged, single-minded look she knew so well, and this line of questioning was just going to end up making her blush. She couldn’t back down now though.

He reached down with one hand and gently ran his finger around her ankle at the top of her sock, then up, “ankle? Leg? No?” He ran his finger up her arm, “arm’s bare, what about shoulder?” His finger kept going, “neck? Behind your ear?” 

His touch was so playful and featherlight that it made her shiver, even with the heat of the day. She laughed as she tried to lean away from him, still protecting the peanut bag from his other hand, and he leaned in all the way over the seat rest to follow her, until his nose was almost in her hair and she could feel his breath on her neck, “come on, Elizabeth, just tell me. I’m gonna find out sooner or later–”

“You two look like you’re having fun.” 

Beth looked up to see Alex standing in the aisle, a camera in her hands. 

They straightened back up into their respective seats. 

“I’m in charge of taking pictures for the firm newsletter. Can I get one of you guys?”

Beth looked to Rio, a little uncertain. This seemed like the kind of cheesy thing he would hate. 

He just grinned at her though, shrugging one shoulder as if to say it was up to her.

Beth turned back to Alex and nodded.

“Okay, scooch in, a little closer, a little more, perfect!” 

\-----

At any other point in her life, Beth knew she would have considered her new house her every dream come true. 

It was a big American colonial outside the city, a perfect 20-minute commute from Boland Motors. Five bedrooms, an office for Dean, a huge kitchen for Beth, and a rambling fenced-in backyard perfect for pets and children. 

It was way more house than Dean and Beth could ever have afforded on their own and way too big for just the two of them. 

But Dean’s parents had taken them out to dinner at Christmas and made a ceremonious production out of gifting them a down payment. “For a real home,” they had called it, one “big enough to grow into.” Beth’s heart had clenched when she heard the figure her in-laws planned to give them. It would have covered all her student loans and school expenses too. 

The timing could have been better. A whole lot better. Beth never would have chosen to move in the middle of the semester. But that’s when the house had come on the market, and Dean had pointed out that if they didn’t act now, they probably wouldn’t get it. She had known he was right, so they went ahead and made the offer. 

The irony was that once the summer arrived – the summer where she thought she’d finally have time to really devote to the house since classes were done – Beth found she was spending even less time at the house than she had during the semester. When she wasn’t at work, it seemed like she was either at Annie’s little apartment or visiting Ruby. Or with Rio. 

She had told Dean she wanted to plant azaleas in the front and a vegetable garden in the back. She had talked about repainting the downstairs, installing crown molding in his office, ripping up the old tile in the upstairs bath. And what about the farmers’ markets that the realtor had sold them on, with the artisanal honey and homemade jams, the parks all around perfect for walking a puppy or watching children play?

Every weekend she resolved anew. Once the MPRE was over, the Chicago competition was over, the summer was over, she and Dean would finally really settle in. Painting, renovations, yard work, farmers’ markets, long walks in the park, the works. 

After all, what was the point of living in the suburbs if you weren’t going to take advantage of it?

Just…later. Once she got through all the important things first. 

\-----

“Between you and me, Beth, I think you’re a shoo-in to get an offer for after graduation,” Alex told her, “I’m really glad too. We need more women in litigation.” 

Pride swelled inside Beth. She couldn’t wait to tell Rio. 

It was the last day of her summer job, and Alex had suggested a lunch for the two of them to say goodbye. They’d already promised to stay in touch during the school year. And of course, if Beth ended up receiving a job offer, they’d be working together after the bar exam next summer. 

“Can I give you some advice?” Alex asked. When Beth nodded eagerly, she went on, “try to have fun your last year of law school, enjoy all that free time while you can. Being a first-year associate at a big firm can be pretty tough.”

Beth nodded again. She already knew that the firm’s minimum billable hour requirement for associates was 2000 hours a year. On paper, that worked out to billing about 40 hours a week. But in reality, it would mean working at least 50-60 hours a week, since a billable hour could only include pure legal work and not the time it took to learn new skills or work on non-legal things, not to mention lunch time, travel time, bathroom breaks, and the like. Still, Beth planned to bill at least 2200 hours her first year, to set herself apart from the rest of the associates. 

“There’s just not that much time for a personal life that first year or so, believe me,” Alex’s tone switched to encouraging, “But listen, it’s doable. So keep your eye on the prize. Besides, your boyfriend is going to be at a firm downtown too, right? He’ll understand what it’s like. And you’ll be going through it together.” 

Boyfriend? Beth regarded Alex, confused. They hadn’t ever really talked about their personal lives. And Beth certainly had never mentioned a boyfriend _._

Alex misread her expression.

“He’ll probably be getting an offer from Erickson, Hart, right? I have a couple friends over there. They have the same billable hour requirement we do.” 

Oh. Rio. Alex had met him at the baseball game and a couple of the WPW happy hours Beth had brought him too. But Beth had _certainly_ never introduced him as a _boyfriend_ and she was taken aback that Alex would assume that. She could feel her cheeks starting to flame a little.

“Oh. Yes, he probably will. Well, but,” Beth cleared her throat, “just to be absolutely clear, Rio’s not my boyfriend.”

Alex cocked her head. “You said he was your partner?”

“Oh. Right,” Beth cleared her throat again, “I meant – not _that_ kind of partner. I meant, like, my partner for school things. But also more like a friend. Well, not _like_ a friend, an actual friend – partner _and_ friend, do you know what I mean?” 

Beth trailed off. There was a moment of silence between them. 

Alex was looking at her carefully. 

“Yes, I see,” she said at last, then signaled for the check. 

\-----

_Detroit – 285 miles to Chicago_

They agreed that Rio would pick her up in front of school. Her house was actually on the way out of town, but it just made more sense for her to catch a cab back into the city and meet in the middle. Rio would never want to come to the suburbs, she knew.

When she saw his car pull up, Beth stood and leaned down to pick up her suitcase. She would have expected him to wait in the car, but when she straightened back up, she saw he had jumped out to approach her, leaving the car running at the curb.

He reached out to take her suitcase from her, then smiled when he saw what she had been sitting on. 

Puzzled, Beth looked down. It was just a cooler.

“I packed us up some snacks and drinks,” she explained, “for the drive.” After all, it was over four hours to Chicago. 

“Yeah, I see that,” he picked up the cooler with his free hand and started towards his car. “You map out all the best rest stops too?” he asked over his shoulder. 

Well. She wouldn’t say she had _mapped them_ out, but she did print out a list she’d made and then marked it up with different highlighters – yellow for gas, green for food, pink for noteworthy sights to see, and so on. (Two lists actually, because she wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take I-94 the whole way or I-75 down to Ohio, then I-90 through Indiana.) 

“I like to be prepared.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he grinned at her over the hood of the car, “come on, let’s hit the road.” 

_Ann Arbor, MI – 242 miles to Chicago_

He ended up taking I-94, which took them past the University of Michigan again. 

When they passed the exit to Ann Arbor, they looked at each other and smiled at the same time. 

What a great day that had been, Beth thought. 

She could still feel how happy she had been when she realized that they would be advancing on to Chicago. (And for all his constant “damn, be chill, Elizabeths,” he had been happy too, she knew it.) She could still remember how it had felt when he had lifted her off her feet, how warm and solid he’d felt with his arms tight around her, how overwhelming it had been for a second with her face pressed tight into his neck. 

She hadn’t been back to Ann Arbor since she left at 19 when it had felt then like she was leaving in disgrace. She knew that was silly. And wrong. People left school for a hundred good reasons. Her mother dying and Annie needing a guardian was a better reason than most. 

Still, Beth had wanted to go back from the moment she started her research and saw there was a competition there. If she could go back, and as a _law student_ , it would almost be like showing her past self that things really could work out, that she still had the choices and options that life had taken away from her at 19. 

She’d thought she’d feel so nervous to be back again on campus though. Or back at another competition when the first one she had ever done had gone so poorly. 

But, strangely, the most nervous she had felt the whole day had been sitting in Rio’s car in the parking garage before the competition had started. 

It had been quiet in the deserted parking garage, and dim in the early morning light. They had sat there facing each other with their heads resting back on the seats and it had felt like a moment suspended in time. 

Inexplicably, she had been reminded of high school, of long-ago dates with Dean, sitting in his front seat so hopeful and anxious both that he might kiss her. The two situations couldn’t have been more different, but somehow, sitting there with Rio, she had felt even more nervous than she had at 15. 

She darted a look over at him, glad he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

He felt her eyes on him and glanced over to her, “so you never said, what’d you major in anyway? Not Medieval French Literature, I’m guessin’?”

“Ha, _ha_. Well, since I’m not an _idiot_ like Catherine Horton, I actually picked something useful – I was a Government major.”

“Oh yeah? You thinkin’ about getting into politics one day?” Rio asked. It sounded like he was genuinely interested. 

She shifted fully in her seat to face him, drawing up her knees against the center console and resting her head back against the seat. It felt so easy to talk to him like this. And so nice, to be able to watch his face while he drove, glancing over at her every few moments. 

“Maybe,” she allowed. She’d thought about it. A lot. Judges were elected in Michigan. Plus, most politicians from the local level all the way to the federal level were lawyers, as were most high-level policy and legislative analysts. You had to know the law to shape the law. 

“You’d be good at it,” he nodded, like he’d already definitively evaluated the idea completely and given it his seal of approval. 

“You really think?” she asked cautiously. She had mentioned the same thing to Dean a few months back, tipsy. ( _What, like for head of the PTA?_ he had asked.) 

“Yeah. You get shit done, like to be a boss, don’t care about the chain of command an’ who outranks you as long as you get your way, willing to manipulate the system til it helps you – ain’t that a politician, _President Elizabeth_?” he said, lolling his head over with a grin as he finished to check her reaction. 

She had started off smiling at his assessment (yes, she did get… _shit_ done, she _was_ a boss) but that had turned into a frown by the end. 

He laughed at her expression and pulled his eyes back to the road. 

“I hope you aren’t trying to imply that the SBA’s vote to move the election for President to this fall is _me_ somehow… _manipulating_ the system?” Beth asked him frostily, “because it just makes more sense that the election be held in the fall so the incoming 1L class has a say in who represents the entire student body!”

“Totally,” he deadpanned, “wasn’t about widenin’ the pool of voters at all, nah. Was about _equality. Every student has a vote, every student has a voice._ ” 

Beth narrowed her eyes. That was literally, word-for-word, what she had written in her article in _The Student Advocate_ , to explain why the SBA was moving the election, traditionally held in the spring with only the rising 2L and 3L classes voting so the new President would have the summer to get up to speed. Rio _actually_ took the time to read an issue of _The Student Advocate_? It literally seemed impossible to believe. 

“ _I’m_ not even the one who made the motion to amend the Bylaws to move the election, Barry did!” she reminded him hotly. 

He laughed out loud at that. 

"Come off it, Elizabeth,” he said with something that sounded like affection in his voice, “Like you didn’t put that poor little bastard up to it so a bunch of impressionable 1L kids gonna vote for you in September.”

She realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap. 

“Well, if you really thought that was my _evil master plan_ or whatever, then why did you second Barry’s motion!!” She’d been so surprised – she hadn’t even thought Rio knew _how_ to second a motion! 

“Sweetheart, like I give a damn ‘bout all those other dumbasses. You wanna be SBA President so bad, I’m all for it. It’ll be hilarious watchin’ you boss the rest of them ‘round next year.” 

She blinked a little at that. Rio would support her campaign? What a difference that was from their first year when he had seemed to exist solely to block every single thing she did. (Although he still did that sometimes. But now at least she could manage him better.) 

She decided to change tacks. 

“You know,” she told him silkily, “if I get elected SBA President, I’ll be in charge of the _whole_ SBA…Boss to _all_ the members – elected _and_ appointed.” 

He caught her meaning immediately. Looked over at her slowly and smiled his charming, knowing smile.

"Like I said – _darlin’_ – I’ll be sittin’ right there watchin’ you boss _the rest_ of them around.”

“But you have to admit, _surely_ ,” she said sweetly, just as soft and slow as him, blinking big and holding his gaze, “that SBA President is, _by definition_ , boss to _everyone_ , right?”

“Everyone,” he agreed. “But. Me.” 

They stared at each other for a beat. 

“Watch the road,” she commanded, still soft. 

His gaze sharpened at that, but he turned his head back to the road, shifting a little in his seat. 

Beth smiled, but didn’t press the point. See? He’d have to do what she said, whether he liked it or not.

_Albion, MI – 190 miles to Chicago_

“I’m just saying that if you took the time to _understand_ it instead of just _dismissing_ it outright because you think Professor Katz is crazy or _whatever_ , you’d think it was funny too! My client’s name is _Carl_ spelled with a C. A boat can go on a lake _or_ the ocean, also known as the _sea_. That makes the name of the boat–” 

“Elizabeth! If you gonna try an’ explain to me _one more time_ how that makes that stupid name a _pun_ , I’ll turn this car around right now, see if I don’t!” 

“Fine! God! But you’re just mad because Professor Katz is a genius!” 

“He’s a lunatic, end of story!” 

_Battle Creek, MI – 168 miles to Chicago_

Beth smiled when she saw the signs dotting the exit for Battle Creek, remembering. 

“Did you ever go to Flash Flood growing up?” 

“’Course,” he said, smiling his own smile of remembering at her, “who didn’t?” 

“Annie used to _beg_ me to take her every summer, _all_ summer. She’d stay in the wave pool until she turned into a prune. The only way I could convince her to get out was to do Water Wars so she could use the slingshot to bean other kids in the face.” 

He laughed. “I can picture that.”

Beth looked out the window and smiled again at the memory, remembering Annie’s glee when she’d score a direct hit with one of her water balloons. 

“Sounds like you raised her up right.” Rio’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She looked over to him, uncertain. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, so she tried to read his expression in profile.

He knew Annie had dropped out of high school. That she’d had a baby so young, that she wasn’t married. Was he being sarcastic? 

Beth looked away from him, out her window. She didn’t want to exhume any tawdry family skeletons for him, to try to explain or justify anything. She’d had to do that too many times over the years with Dean’s parents. Her in-laws could be kind, but it was clear they sometimes wished that their only son had married into a family with a little less _drama._

Rio’s family was big and close-knit and respectable. He wouldn’t understand, any more than Dean’s parents could. 

She felt a lump growing in her throat. None of the past was a reflection on Annie, and she’d tell Rio so straight out if that’s what he was getting at. If anyone was at fault, it was _Beth_. Maybe if Beth had done a better job of being her guardian, Annie’d be in college now. Not working two jobs and living in a tiny studio apartment with a baby, fighting a never-ending battle against ants and trashy neighbors both. 

When she didn’t answer for awhile, he spoke again. “You don’t think so?”

She thought about telling him she didn’t want to talk about it, that it was none of his business. But he never really pried. And he had been so good to Annie. It felt like she owed him some response, at least. 

“Maybe I could have done more for her,” she offered, finally, “maybe things would be better for her if I had.” 

“Better? She’s smart, funny, healthy, loves you and that boyfriend, got a cute kid she loves – what’s better than that?”

Arrested, she turned to stare at him. Yes, that was all true. How did he know all that? They’d only met twice. Although. Beth supposed she did talk about Annie sometimes. But only a little. She tried not to bore him by going on too much about personal stuff.

But all that did describe Annie. Described her perfectly. 

“Right?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “that’s right.” She smiled, feeling the lump in her throat disappear. 

_Kalamazoo, MI – 147 miles to Chicago_

When they started seeing the signs counting down the miles to Kalamazoo, she began sneaking sideways looks at Rio. Somehow she just had the feeling that he wasn’t going to just drive by without making some comment.

She was right.

When they were one mile from the exit, he turned to her mock excited. 

“Hey, look, Kalamazoo, your favorite vacation spot. Wanna make a little detour? Maybe swing by the planetarium?” 

She refused to give him the satisfaction of laughing. Besides, he was so predictable that she had already braced herself for whatever he was going to say. She rolled her eyes while _he_ laughed instead. 

To pay him back for being such a snob though, she spent the next twenty minutes telling him about the planetarium. He sighed dramatically as he listened. 

_Benton Harbor, MI – 98 miles to Chicago_

“Who doesn’t like brownies? That’s so weird.” 

“The crumbs get everywhere and you can’t eat ‘em with a fork without lookin’ like a dumbass. It’s too much, mamí.” 

“That opinion is just _wrong_ on every level. It just amazes me how wrong it is…But okay then, what’s your favorite cookie?” 

“Chocolate chip.”

“Chocolate chip? That’s so boring! I thought you were going to say something fancy and pretentious like pistachio macaroons.”

“What can I say, Elizabeth, I like the classics.” 

_Gary, IN – 35 miles to Chicago_

They hit traffic outside Gary. Rio was so impatient most of the time that Beth thought it would drive him crazy to be sitting still for little stretches of time while they waited for the road crews to finish. 

But he just leaned his head back against the seat and looked relaxed.

Now was the time, she knew. 

She’d had to handle the question of their class schedule very delicately at Christmas. From almost the moment he had agreed to be partners, Beth had realized that they should sync up their schedules as much as possible so they’d maximize the time available to practice. So really, it had just made sense when you thought about it to take the same classes. Plus, they had had the same schedule their first three semesters, so she had figured it wouldn’t really be that much of a hardship to do it one more time. 

She hadn’t been able to tell _Rio_ that though, of course. Beth had known that if she had given him her list of classes they should take, he’d have just chosen something different out of sheer stubbornness. 

So she had had to step carefully to make sure she gently convinced him that all her choices were the right ones (except for the Feminism Legal Theory Seminar, which had been _his_ choice of course, which _still_ baffled her). It had been like coaxing a baby bird across a windowsill to her hand, crumb by crumb, with slow and easy movements. 

All the same reasons that had existed before still applied now as to why they should have similar – or the same – schedules. They might do another competition together, now they were in a study group together, and so forth. 

She cleared her throat, “so have you figured out your schedule for next semester yet?”

He rolled his head towards her and grinned. “’Course I have, darlin’. Already got it all laminated up and everything.” 

She was on a mission here, so she let that one go, even though it was difficult. Beth hadn’t _laminated_ her schedule last semester, she had just printed it out and slipped it under a plastic _laminate sheet_ she had attached to the front of one of her notebooks. There was a clear difference, and she had explained that to him several times. 

“Were you looking at Commercial Paper? And maybe Bankruptcy?”

He had been working on a big bankruptcy reorganization at work most of the summer, she knew. And Commercial Paper was all about negotiable financial instruments and the Uniform Commercial Code, which was Erickson, Hart’s daily bread and butter. She had studied the course catalog for the fall semester and figured if he had given even a passing thought to his class schedule, those might be the ones that would appeal to him the most. 

His face changed a little, from teasing to more thoughtful. 

“Actually…was thinkin’ about those a little. Could come in handy down the road.” 

“Definitely,” she agreed, “either at your firm or working for your uncle.” 

Rio looked at her closely, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed, “for either one.” 

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t take the bait. 

But then he did.

“What about you? You thinkin’ of something like Products Liability like that one trial you worked on last month?”

“I was actually thinking more about Tort Defense,” she told him, “Professor Kelly teaches both, but Tort Defense is less specialized and covers a broader range of claims. There’ll be a lot of stuff there like I’ve been working on this summer. And of course, we already know what Professor Kelly is like as a professor from first year.” 

He nodded. She waited a beat, then laid it out casually, like it had just that second occurred to her. 

“You know, Tort Defense is on the bar exam so you’ll have to learn it at some point too. If we took it together, I could help you study. And then you could help me if we also took Commercial Paper and Bankruptcy?” 

He looked a little surprised. “You’d wanna take both of those?”

“Well, sure,” she told him, “why not? They’re both on the bar exam after all.”

“Right, right,” he said, turning back to the road as the traffic started moving again, “So what else?” 

_What else?_ Was it really going to be this easy?

“Well,” she said slowly, like she was just recalling, “remember you said you’d think about taking Evidence? We definitely need it for the bar and if we take it now, we leave our options open for the spring as far as the types of competitions we could do?”

“Yeah, I remember. So, that’s it then? That means we takin’ Evidence, Tort Defense, Commercial Paper, and Bankruptcy?” 

It _was_ going to be this easy. She could barely believe it. 

“Well, yes, now that you lay it out like that, I _do_ think that makes the most sense.” 

“’Kay, cool. On one condition.” 

_Condition?_ He had a condition? When he was getting two of the classes that fit his practice area and she was only getting one? She was about to ask him just exactly why he thought he was in a position to make conditions, but then she remembered. Baby bird, windowsill, slow, easy movements.

“And what condition would that be?” 

“We ain’t sittin’ in the front row in Kelly’s class. Non-negotiable.” 

She stared at him, nonplussed. Why in Heaven’s sake would she want to sit in the front row in _Professor Kelly’s_ class? He had spent their entire first year in Torts trying to look down Beth’s blouse! She had been trapped there by the assigned seating chart! 

Still, there was an opportunity here. He’d forgotten to stipulate that they couldn’t sit in the front row in the other three. She’d use this as leverage to get him to sit in the front row in the other ones once the semester started.

“I accept your condition,” she told him.

“Cool,” he told her, tossing her a smile and accelerating into the fast lane as they left the last of the road work behind. 

\-----

Beth laughed and clapped her hands as the waiter lifted her pizza slice from the pan at the center of table. Higher, higher, higher. Spurred on by her obvious delight, the waiter made it even more theatrical. He slowed down his lift, then slower still, until the spatula holding the slice came to a stop hovering two feet over the table. 

Perfectly framed by the long, unbroken strings of cheese still connecting the slice to the pan was Rio’s unenthusiastic face across from her. 

When Beth had suggested _authentic_ _historic_ Chicago-style deep dish pizza for lunch, he had actually looked interested. That look had quickly turned into offended disgust when she had had to admit that she was talking about Pizzeria Uno’s. 

He had at first flatly refused to consider it (“Elizabeth, you ain’t seriously tellin’ me we in one of the greatest cities in the country for food and you want us to go to an _Uno’s_!”). Even when she showed him her research about how the original Pizzeria Uno’s location _was_ the birthplace of Chicago deep dish pizza in 1943! He was really such a snob, it was infuriating.

But when she had finally offered to do the Chicago River architecture boat tour _he_ wanted to do in exchange _plus_ agreed that he could pick their dinner spot, he had grudgingly relented. (Which was fine with her because she had the boat tour on her list of must-sees anyway plus the Pizzeria Uno’s was near Millennium Park so she’d make sure they stopped by there on the way to the boat house – thus getting to do two of Beth’s things _first_.)

Their waiter ceremoniously presented Beth her slice with a flamboyant flourish. 

“And now for il signore!” the waiter cried, turning back to the pizza and beginning the same slow elaborate cheese-dangling-from-the-pan-lift routine for Rio’s slice. 

But then he took one look at Rio’s face. 

The waiter sawed through the thick ropes of cheese strings efficiently, quickly plated the slice, and beat a hasty retreat. 

“Come on,” she persuaded when the waiter was gone, “admit it, that was so cool.”

“Elizabeth. It was cheesy as hell.” 

He didn’t mean it as a pun, she knew. But she watched his face when he realized the double meaning, first annoyed, then exasperated as she laughed, then gradually turning to grudging amusement as he watched her face. 

“Eat,” he told her, “we got lots to do still.” 

They dug in, the busy bustle of the restaurant all around them. She had to admit (to herself, only) that he was right – it _was_ something of a tourist trap and it _was_ cheesy as hell. But still so nice too, this was just like what she had pictured in her head. 

She watched him eat, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“Detroit-style is better, but it’s alright,” he allowed after awhile.

Ha! She had known he would like it.

\-----

Rio had told her early in her planning process that she’d better factor in practice time in Detroit accordingly because he wasn’t spending any of their time in Chicago “going over this crap again and stressin’ ourselves out the day before the competition.” 

In her view, that was really too much of _unilateral_ decision on his part and not enough of a _partnership_ decision that they should be making together. 

But on the other hand, they hadn’t practiced the day before the Michigan competition where they’d ended up doing so well either, so it almost seemed like a happy superstition that they should follow again. And besides, there were just so many things Beth wanted to do and see. They’d left Detroit early enough that they still had most of the afternoon and all of the evening before the competition the next morning. 

They took the boat tour, up and down the three branches of the Chicago River, the sun shining down and the breeze blowing off the water, listening to their guide describe the famous landmarks and skyscrapers that hugged the river. 

They stopped at the Bridgehouse Museum for the moveable bridges exhibit Rio had read about, then backtracked back towards Millennium Park again to visit the Art Institute, making sure to go all the way around to the Michigan Avenue entrance to see the famous lion guardians. 

For dinner, his choice ended up being some French-Asian fusion restaurant that he said was supposed to be “dope.” It was a bit too froofy and precocious for Beth’s liking. But she loved the location, perched up high above the river with amazing views of the skyline. And she loved watching him try to eat their sushi, how much he enjoyed it, how happy he looked to be there. 

After dinner, they walked from one end of the Riverwalk to the other. The sun had gone down but the lights from the buildings and from all the boats gliding by twinkled off the water. Every other bend, there was a cove or patio where live music was playing or an art installation was set up. 

When they got back to their hotel, it was almost midnight. As tired as Beth was from the long day, it took her forever to fall asleep. She laid in her bed in the dark, looking at the dim outline of the connecting door between their adjoining rooms, knowing he was just on the other side. 

Her last thought before she finally fell asleep was to marvel – she hadn’t thought about the competition once all day. 

\-----

Beth had worried all summer that the Regional Competition would be a cut above what they had faced before. That they might be out of their league.

But maybe the other teams at the Regionals hadn’t been as motivated to prepare as much since it was the summer. Or maybe whatever competition those teams had qualified at hadn’t been as competitive as the Michigan one. 

Or maybe she and Rio were just that good, either naturally or with all the practice and work they had put in last semester and over the summer. 

Whatever the reason, it felt like they were cruising through the first two rounds, fielding questions easily, picking apart the flaws in their opponents’ arguments and countering them effectively when it was their turn. 

The third round, it got more difficult. 

The team they were facing was good, with a similar mix of styles. And for the first time, they had a “hot” panel of judges, which meant both teams were getting interrupted constantly. Since a big part of the scoring criteria was how well a team addressed the judges’ questions, it felt like one mistake might end up being the deciding factor.

It was Rio’s turn to argue. He stood at the podium between the two attorneys’ tables, facing the judges and arguing the fact-heavy portion of their argument. Beth was seated to his right, close enough that her shoulder could almost brush his leg when he shifted. 

He was distinguishing the competition’s factual problem from the facts that had been at issue in _United States v. Knotts_ , the landmark 1983 Supreme Court case holding that monitoring a signal from a beeper the police had placed on the defendant’s vehicle did not invade any legitimate expectation of privacy and therefore was neither a “search” nor a “seizure” under the Fourth Amendment. He was citing whole sections of the _Knotts_ majority opinion almost from memory, barely having to look down at his notes in front of him. Beth had a hard time keeping her eyes on the judges in front of her and away from Rio’s face above her. 

One of the judges interrupted him.

“But isn’t it true that the Court held in _Knotts_ that that there were actually _not_ any facts that gave rise to an ‘open fields’ issue, Mr. Bonilla?”

“In a concurring opinion only,” Rio answered.

“Which concurrence was that?” the judge challenged.

He glanced down at his notes and Beth recognized the dilemma immediately. 

All nine Supreme Court justices had agreed that the lower court’s decision in _Knotts_ should be reversed. But for four different reasons. There had been a majority opinion that five justices had joined and then three separate concurring opinions, with the remaining justices each joining together on one or more.

It was one of the intricate little set-ups in opinions that she loved and Rio hated. She had heard him rail against it so many times, telling her heatedly that writing one opinion, then concurring in another justice’s, then concurring in _yet_ another was stupid. “Just say what you gotta say one time and be done with it,” he would tell her, exasperated, when she would try to explain _why_ they structured the opinions that way. 

He knew the holdings in the main opinion, she knew, knew the holdings in the supporting opinions as well. But he’d never remember _which_ concurrence was _which_ , which justice had written it, which justices had joined. He hated fussy little details like that. “Who _cares_ , Elizabeth?” she could hear him say in her head. 

Quick as a rabbit, she scribbled on the Post-It in the stack in front of her – _3 rd – Stev. w/ Bren & Marsh._

She pushed the Post-It to the corner of the table, then reached out silently to him. She tapped him on the back of the knee, under the table where the judges couldn’t see.

He glanced down, saw the Post-It, and looked back up immediately.

“The third one, your Honor,” he said smoothly, “Justice Stevens’ concurrence, with Justices Brennan and Marshall joining.” 

The judge nodded slowly at the answer and looked impressed. “You may continue, Mr. Bonilla.” 

When he sat back down, he didn’t look at her or change his expression in any way. He just reached under the table and gave her knee a long squeeze. She smiled to herself but kept her face impassive too. 

They were going to win. She could just _feel_ it. 

\-----

“I can’t believe it.”

“I know.” 

“I just can’t believe it.” 

“I know, mamí.”

“It’s not _fair_.” 

“Nah, it ain’t.”

They had lost. 

It was after midnight, and the competition had ended hours ago. But she just kept circling back to it, and he just kept letting her. 

After the final round was over, and the winning team – not them – had been announced, they had walked out of the auditorium onto the busy Chicago street. Morosely, Beth had suggested that they just get their bags and head back to Detroit. It had only been early afternoon – they could be back home by dinnertime. 

“Nah, fuck that,” Rio had said, “we ain’t lettin’ them ruin the weekend.” He’d practically dragged her back to their hotel to change out of their suits, then onto the train. 

At first, Beth had barely noticed or cared where they were headed. But when they’d gotten off the L and she’d realized that they were at the Cubs stadium, she had felt the fog start to lift a little. Even a baseball novice like herself had heard about Wrigley Field. 

After they watched the Cubs win from the bleacher section, drinking beer after beer and cursing out the visiting team and competition judges both, they had followed the crowd to the bars lining the streets of Wrigleyville, before catching the train back down towards their hotel to hit up the bars in the Loop. 

Now she was drunk. So drunk. So very very drunk. 

She probably should have just gone to bed when they got back to the hotel. But she hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t wanted the night to end. 

Instead, she had knocked on the door between their two rooms, telling herself that she’d only knock once – if Rio didn’t answer, that meant he had gone to sleep and she should too. But he had opened the door immediately, like he had already been up and near it. He had blinked in surprise to see her standing there in her pajamas, but had held the door on his side open for her to come through. 

They had broken into the mini-bar in his room, lining up all the little bottles, then playing rock-paper-scissors to see who would get first pick. It had taken a few tries and an argument over the proper rules of rock-paper-scissors because he kept going on the three in “1-2-3” and she kept waiting until _after_ the three, but they had finally gotten the hang of it. 

“Elizabeth,” he slurred, “you said our school never had a team get higher than fourth at that thing, right? We got second – so we better than anyone else, end of story.”

They had pulled the little couch in his room around to face out his balcony over the Chicago skyline. They sat side-by-side with their feet stretched out on the little coffee table, the little empty mini-bar bottles strewn all around. 

He had been trying to convince her with that argument for hours.

“Yeah,” she agreed, the same way she had been responding for hours, “but we should have won.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed simply, “we should of.” 

His knee knocked against hers gently. She shifted closer until her head rested against his shoulder. 

“But doesn’t it make you mad?” she asked, taking care to form the words carefully. 

“Lift up,” he told her. When she leaned forward, he pulled his arm out from where it had been pinned under her and put it around her instead, pulling her back against him when he was done, “come back.”

When she had rested her head against his shoulder again, he asked “now, does what make me mad?”

“That we were the best but now no-one at school will know.” She pulled his free hand into her lap and started tracing over his rings. She _loved_ his rings and how they looked on him, which had always surprised her, because until him she had always hated jewelry on men. 

“Nah, we’ll know,” he said, like that’s all that mattered.

That lifted her spirits a little, made her want to laugh almost. He was so stubborn sometimes. Like he believed that if he just said something, then it was true, or would _become_ true through the saying of it, and that’s all there was to that. She loved that about him.

Rio must have felt her smile against him because he tilted his head a little to try to see her face. He smiled too when he saw her expression and laid his head against the back of the couch again.

Her hand looked so small against his. At some point, they had switched. Now he was running his fingers over her hand, gently circling her wrist, then tracing up and down the bones in her fingers. 

It felt so good, she never wanted it to end. She snuggled in closer. 

“You don’t wear your rings anymore,” he said, so quiet that she heard it more from the rumble of his chest under her ear than from the actual sound of his voice. 

“Hmm?” she asked. She was mesmerized watching his hand move over hers. It felt like she was in a trance, like he was hypnotizing her. Her eyelids could barely stay up.

“Your wedding rings. Haven’t seen ‘em all summer.” 

“They’re at home,” she tried to whisper. 

She felt the rumble of his chest again, but she couldn’t understand the words anymore. 

\-----

They were fifty miles out of Chicago, in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, and neither one of them had spoken for over an hour.

Beth had swallowed a handful of Advil, chugged three bottles of water, and thrown up in the shower, and she _still_ felt just as shitty as when she had woken up. 

When she had opened her eyes that morning, for a second she had smiled, still caught in the dream that was already fading, even as she desperately tried to hold on to it. It had been about Rio, she knew that much, but that was all she knew.

Then in the next second, the axe that was buried in her head made itself felt. It felt like the blood in her skull was pulsating and her eyes were too big for her face. She had groaned out loud, knowing she had to get to the bathroom and hang her head over the toilet and _quick._

But immediate on the heels of that thought was sheer, absolute, unadulterated _panic_.

What had happened last night? She couldn’t remember. They had been sitting on the couch together (close together? It felt like it had been very close together?) in his room (oh my God, she had actually knocked on the door to his room in her _pajamas_ ), then…nothing. It was all blank. Had she just gone back to her room? When? What had they talked about? What else had she done?

While she was still panicking and communing with the toilet, there had been a knock on the adjoining door between their rooms. 

“Elizabeth? You awake?” 

It had taken her two tries from her perch on the bathroom floor to call out loud enough for him to hear her. When he had asked where she wanted to go to breakfast, she had called out that she wanted to get on the road, so they could get back to Detroit early. He had wanted her to open the door, pointed out that it might be easier to talk face-to-face instead of shouting through wood. She had told him she was about to hop into the shower but that she’d meet him downstairs in 30 minutes to leave. 

When she had walked into the lobby, he had already been waiting in a chair, his suitcase sitting beside him. He had barely looked up from his phone when she had walked up. 

They had waited silently in front of the hotel while the valet brought his car around and it had been just as quiet ever since. 

Now Beth stared rigidly out the window, looking at all the corn. If she could make it three hours back to Detroit without vomiting again, it was going to be an honest-to-God _miracle_. 

“It’s just casual with her,” Rio said suddenly, completely out-of-the-blue. 

She startled violently at the sound of his voice, before turning to him, uncomprehending. 

He glanced over at her. 

“With Dylan. Took a break this summer while she’s in New York doing her internship. Don’t have any plans for what’ll happen when she gets back.” 

Beth stared at him, speechless. Why was he telling her that?

He smiled a little at her face, then looked back at the road. “You told me last night to tell you again in the morning. You said you weren’t gonna remember.” 

Beth was _mortified._

Had she been… _interrogating_ him last night? About his love life? About his girlfriend? What must he think of her? 

She had never been so embarrassed in her life.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to explain herself. To justify why she would have been asking him that, why she thought she had some kind of right to know. 

So she defaulted to what she did best, to politeness, to try to salvage it. 

“Well, I really hope it works out for you guys.” She looked back out her window.

He didn’t respond. She hoped that meant he wouldn’t bring it up again.

Twenty more silent miles later, Beth knew if they didn’t stop and get some gum or something, she was going to throw up all over his car. 

He didn’t respond when she asked him politely and formally if he could find a place to stop soon, but he took the next exit. He followed the signs to a barren-looking little rest stop with a gas station, convenience store, and little restaurant. It looked like the only sign of civilization in miles. 

Beth left Rio filling up the car and headed across the parking lot to the convenience store. 

It was dark and windowless inside and had obviously seen better days. The aisles were dusty and there wasn’t a terribly big selection. Still, Beth smiled politely at the white-haired old man behind the counter and willed herself again not to throw up. 

After a few minutes, Rio walked in. He didn’t acknowledge her, just headed straight to the cooler wall in the back. Over the top of the aisle, she saw the old man behind the counter sit up straighter, watching Rio’s back. 

Rio didn’t head up front right away, just walked slowly down Beth’s little aisle until he reached her. He stopped right next to her, standing a little behind her and way too close. 

She kept on staring intently at the cinnamon gums. She was still too embarrassed to look at him. She started to reach for a packet of Big Red. 

“Get the Trident,” he whispered, touching the cold water bottle in his hand to her leg, making her jump, “it’s better.” 

Beth ignored him and picked up the Big Red. He nudged her heel lightly with his shoe, making her wobble. He was almost draped across her back.

“Elizabeth. Trident.” 

She was trying not to smile, but she knew she was about to break. When he was boyish and mischievous like this, somehow she just couldn’t resist him. Her stomach felt a little better too. 

“Is there a problem here?”

Beth looked up from the gum to see that the old man had come from behind the counter to stand at the end of their aisle. He was staring at them fixedly, looking almost fearful. 

Beth stared back, confused. What would the problem be? Taking too long to decide on which cinnamon gum to buy? 

“Nah, man, there’s no problem,” she heard Rio say behind her. 

“I don’t want any trouble here,” the man told Rio. 

She turned her head around to look at Rio, confused. But he wasn’t looking back at her; instead, he was staring past her to the man. His face was set and hard. 

“Miss?” she heard the man say, and when Beth turned her head back, “is he bothering you?” 

She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. It hit her in just that moment. As if she were the one standing in the old man’s spot, looking at the two of them standing together through his eyes, suddenly, Beth could see her and Rio the way the man must be seeing them. 

Beth in her yellow blouse with the ruffles around the sleeves, her pressed khaki shorts, her spotless white Keds. Rio in his black basketball shorts and his black sleeveless shirt that showed off the tattoos on his arms. 

The difference in their ages. The difference in their races.

He assumed they weren’t together. 

For a second, Beth couldn’t blame him.

Rio shoved the bottle of water in his hand on top of candy boxes on the top shelf with a thump, then turned and headed for the exit. The clerk watched him all the way to the door. 

When Rio was almost through the door, Beth broke out of her trance. She hurried down the aisle, pushing past the man and then out the door herself. She had to half-run to catch up with Rio across the parking lot.

When they were both back in the car, he just sat there for a beat without turning on the engine. 

“You didn’t have to leave,” he told her, one hand scrubbing across his eyes. The muscles in his jaw were still tight. “You could of still got something.”

“I didn’t want to buy anything in there,” she said. 

He dropped his hand down and took a breath, then turned the key in the engine. 

“I’ll stop at the next exit,” he promised her. 

Carefully, she pulled the pack of cinnamon Trident out of her pocket and leaned over to place it on the dashboard in front of him.

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” she told him. 

Rio looked at the little red packet for a beat, staring at it like he had a hard time recognizing what it was. Then he reached out and picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands, before turning in his seat towards her. 

A slow smile spread across his face. 

“You stole this, Elizabeth?”

“He deserved it,” she told him.

He just stared at her for a few seconds, shaking his head and smiling at her. 

Finally, he turned back around and put the car in drive, pulling back out on the road. 

“You still gotta get straight back home?” he asked her.

She shook her head. 

“’Ey,” he asked her, “then why don’t you pull out your little list of sights to see and pick us out a good one.” 

She nodded and reached for her notebook. Her stomach felt a lot better anyway. Why not make the trip last?

\-----

Her cab was supposed to pick her up any minute to take her to the welcome party for the incoming 1L class. She planned to stick to only two drinks at the party itself, but then again, that had slipped a little last year. Plus, Rio had suggested going out to the afterparty afterwards to support Gardner, pointing out she could kill two birds with one stone and drum up votes there too with “the dumb little 1Ls all liquored up, darlin’.” (She considered that just a touch calculating to actually say out loud, but on the other hand, it _was_ a good plan.)

She fluffed her hair in the hall mirror and re-applied her lipstick. Perfect. 

“Beth, I need to talk to you.”

She met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. He was sitting on the couch in the living room. His shoulders were hunched and his elbows were planted on his knees as he leaned forward, rolling a beer bottle in his hands. 

“Sure,” she smiled at him, “but my cab will be here soon.” 

“Could you stay here tonight instead?” Dean’s eyes implored her in the mirror. “So we can talk?” 

Beth turned slowly from the mirror to face him. Skip the party? What could possibly be so important to talk about that it would be worth that?

“Bethie,” Dean said, his face so puppy-dog and penitent for a second that she blinked, arrested, “Please. It’s important.” 

\-----

She watched Rio and Gardner together across the Atrium with a couple of other SBA members. She wouldn’t say that Rio looked thrilled to be talking to Gardner, but he didn’t look dismissive or bored either. 

He kept shooting looks over at her though, lifting his eyebrows and tilting his head quizzically at her. He knew something was wrong, even though she had told him more than once she was fine. 

She had to get back home. 

At home, she had tried to tell Dean that the party was important too, that they could talk about whatever _this_ was when she got home, or tomorrow if it was too late then but for now –

“We’re being sued,” Dean had interrupted, head hanging low, and when she had repeated “we?” uncomprehendingly, “the dealership, my dad…me,” he had told her. And when she had asked for what, her lips growing numb and the blood starting to rush in her ears, he had told her – sexual harassment, hostile work environment, “some other stuff.” For millions. The lawyer said it might get bad, Dean had told her, that there would be depositions, questions, subpoenas. They could lose the dealership, the house. But they could get through it though, he had promised her. If she’d just stay, he would tell her everything and they could face it together, the way they always had. He just loved her so much. 

Her cab had honked from outside then. And she had been standing up and walking to the door like she was on autopilot. She’d be back, Beth had thrown over her shoulder, but she had to make an appearance. She had promised Gardner. (And Rio). She had to go for at least an hour. She’d be back, she had called again, as she ran down the steps to the cab. 

Now that she was here and the hour was up, she could barely face the thought of going back home. 

It was going to be bad, Beth could feel it. She had known Dean for half her life, loved him for a good chunk of that. There was more to all this and she didn’t want to hear it and she didn’t want to face it. And she had to. It was going to be just one more thing in her life that she was going to have to face. 

All of a sudden, she couldn’t bear it. To be surrounded by noise and so many people. She had to get away, away from the bustle of the party and all the new students, their shiny faces so happy to be starting out fresh.

She turned and headed down the hall, back to the back of the building, pushing through the doors to the loading dock. 

It was quiet and deserted back there, like she knew it would be. For a second she just breathed in the summer air. 

This is where it had all started for her. Two years ago, she had stood right here with her clipboard, so sure and certain it was all beginning for her. 

And she had been right. This was the exact spot she had met Rio. 

She remembered the moment she had seen him, what she had thought when she had seen his face. Then how much he had annoyed her that night and how even way back then she had had a feeling she was going to be seeing so much more of him. 

She wondered if Rio even remembered that night, remembered meeting her. 

For a second, Beth allowed herself to think _what if_. What if she hadn’t been married when they met? What if they had been at the same spot in life, same age, maybe, or same type of person? What could have been then? 

She heard the door open behind her and then Rio’s voice. 

“Elizabeth,” he called, “Gardner got you out here checkin’ in the bartenders?”

So he remembered too. 

Beth looked behind her to see him leaning his head out the door, his smile teasing and warm. 

She tried to smile back, but it was too much effort. She turned her head back around to face the alley again. 

The door shut behind her, and for a moment Beth thought he had gone back inside. But then she felt him as he came to stand next to her, so tall and warm beside her, their shoulders touching gently.

“So, what’s up?” he asked. She could feel him looking down at her. 

“Nothing,” she told him. It was too hard to look back at him, so she kept focusing on the alley, the cars driving by at the end of the street. 

“You worried about the election next week? Gotta say sounds like most of those kids are ready to fall in line and vote President Elizabeth all the way.” He bumped her shoulder with his.

She shook her head. Sometimes he acted like school was all she thought about. 

“You mad Gardner did the party _almost_ as good as us?” He was teasing, she knew, and even with everything running through her head, she almost laughed. 

She shook her head. 

Rio turned his body to face her, then tugged on her elbow until she was facing him too. When she didn’t look at him right away, he gently coaxed her head up with one finger under her chin until she met his eyes. 

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Waited for her. 

The silence stretched between them. He still hadn’t dropped his hand from her face. Slowly, his thumb dragged gently over her cheekbone then down to trace her lips. His eyes followed the movement.

He just overwhelmed her sometimes. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he talked. Everything about him. 

He felt like a craving. He felt like…a _want_ , just a tangible _want_ that she wanted to curl her fists around, pull towards her, and tell the world _mine_. 

She didn’t let herself think about it. Instead, she just lifted her own hand to curl around his neck, then lifted herself up too, closing the gap between them. 

If he had shown any hesitation, even for a second, she would have lost her nerve. 

But he didn’t hesitate. The second she started to move, he was moving too. Sliding his fingers to the back of her neck and pulling her closer quicker, like she was moving too slow, as he lowered his head and opened his mouth over hers. 

He kissed like he did everything else, aggressive and perfect. She should have figured.

The feeling of his hands at her neck and around her waist, the heat of his mouth and slide of his tongue just made her want more. She pulled her nails down the back of his neck and kissed him desperately and felt him make a noise low in his throat. 

She pushed closer, and he pulled her tighter against him, walking them backwards until his back hit the wall behind him. Then both his hands were in her hair, his fingers tangling around her curls and tilting her head so he could kiss her deeper. She dropped both hands down to his waist to tug him closer still by his belt loops. 

It still wasn’t enough.

“Elizabeth. Wait,” Rio pulled his head back, away from her lips, but then sighed and darted back down to kiss her again when she tried to go up on her tiptoes to follow him. He pulled back away again though, telling her again, “wait.” 

Wait. She leaned back a little from him, sinking back down on her heels. She was always waiting. 

His fingers were still tangled in her hair. He slid his hands down to frame her face and neck, running his thumbs over her collarbones down under the neck of her blouse. His eyes moved quickly over her face. “You sure you want to do this here?” 

He was right. What was she doing? Anyone could come out here, anyone could see them. What was she doing? She dropped her hands from his waist and started to step back. 

“Let’s go to my place,” he told her, voice hoarse.

His face had sharpened into focus as she drew all the way back and she could see him clearly again. 

She could see everything clearly again.

His place? She couldn’t go to his place. She had messes at _her_ home to deal with. Just like she always did. Always had.

“No,” she told him, miserably, “I have to go. I have to get home to Dean.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this and saw the "Enemies - Friends - Lovers" tag, I thought "ooooh, 3 tags, 3 years of law school, one tag per year!" So I thought that was what a slow burn was, although I've seen from a couple comments that maybe my view is not the correct one! In any event, the end of the summer is officially the end of 2L, which means 3L is about to start. All of that was a very long-winded way to say the tags and rating will change with the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the feedback and comments, it really does bring me such joy to read!!

**Author's Note:**

> I should be finishing one thing instead of starting another, but the thought of these two competing against each other in a law school setting, playing to both their strengths and weaknesses, has been consuming me all summer. And what better way to work through any lingering trauma of my own left over from law school?? (j/k no trauma was involved). This will be alternating point of views, each chapter covering a different semester. The school, the professors, fellow classmates = all fictional(ish).


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